


I Am Yours, You Are Mine

by Mellowenglishgal



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Because Disney should've given us a happy ending, Ben Solo deserved better!, Broken families reunited, Fix-It, My take on Force Awakens trilogy, Redemption doesn't mean death!!!, So did Rey's characterisation, Wish Fulfillment, i'm here to fix that, what should've happened
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 109,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24230470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellowenglishgal/pseuds/Mellowenglishgal
Summary: "Sometimes he heard it in the back of his mind, a melody hummed over and over again. The taste of grief that coated his tongue and teeth and left him with a familiar burning ache in his chest, mingled with the persistent flare of anticipation, of joy and hope and resolve - a determination that kept turning his eyes to the sky. 'They'll come back'."My take on The Force Awakens through The Rise of Skywalker and all the details we so craved in between. A chance for me to flesh out Rey's character and backstory. This fic will focus primarily on Reylo, but will also look deeper into the relationships between Ben and his parents and uncle. Also, the friendship between young, lonely kids Finn and Rey.
Relationships: Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 30
Kudos: 88





	1. Across the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Can’t believe it’s taken me this long to binge the new Star Wars. (Actually, I can: The original trilogy was epic, and the prequels still make me cringe!) I’ll give all due recognition, accolades and respect to Adam Driver for his portrayal of Kylo-Ren/Ben Solo: We all know he carried the trilogy. He took the script and made the movies his own. I haven’t been so disappointed with an ending since Jon Snow’s character assassination.
> 
> I think half the problem people have with Rey, calling her a “Mary Sue”, is that there’s very little exposition (and of course, three separate projects for the trilogy with three unique visions): We know what’s going on inside Kylo Ren’s mind because of Adam Driver’s phenomenal acting, but, well, most people don’t care to take Rey in the context of her life in Jakku, and the details of things like Kylo having been hit by Chewie’s blaster before duelling with Rey, whom he only wanted to capture, not kill, etc. I’m also going to explore the bond, and how it affected both Rey and Ben before they ever met.
> 
> Also, the ‘awakening’ in the Force doesn’t necessarily have to have been Rey: It could’ve been Finn, or the little boy in the stables tending to the fathiers - he levitated the broom to him!
> 
> Also, who actually wants me to keep Rey’s origins as a Palpatine? Because I don’t!

**I Am Yours, You Are Mine**

_01_

_Across the Stars_

* * *

He felt it, then, the ripple of sensitivity, the _awareness_ , an unexpected kiss of warmth on his skin as if like a blazing summer sun at midnight in winter, and a stillness - a gentleness, a sense of peace enveloping him, lulling and sweet, where he could finally, blessedly, catch his breath, quiet his mind. He had felt it more and more over the last few months, that… _connection_. Delicate, and cherished - he had started to yearn for it, for the sense of peace and completeness that transcended everything churning inside him. For that delicate brush of warmth, the whisper of serenity, undiluted joy - _hope_ …a teasing, mercurial seam of hope, like viewing the sun as if from underwater, fragmented and ever-changing and lulling, drawing him to the surface. Keeping him from drowning, drawing him towards the light, to _life_. He reached for the warmth, the sweetness - and the lullaby.

Sometimes he heard it, a song in the back of his mind, a melody hummed over and over again. And accompanying it, the taste of grief that coated his tongue and teeth and left him with a familiar burning ache in his chest, mingled with the persistent flare of anticipation, of joy and hope and resolve - a determination that kept turning his eyes to the sky, watching… _waiting_. A certainty that solidified in his mind even as it reflected years of longing in his own heart, _They’ll come back_ …

Months ago, undiluted terror had choked him from his sleep, chilled to the bone and covered in cold sweat, his body jolting as if he had been hit with a rifle, the screams of a tiny girl blasting through his mind as if she stood beside him, screaming, her whimpers and cries of unbridled grief and confusion and shock echoing in his ears, his hands shaking and the darkness coiled in his stomach, as anguish and confusion rippled across the galaxies, and he felt it, the grief, the pain, the devastation - the panic that had stopped his lungs from taking in oxygen.

He’d struggled to dominate the feeling of panic threatening to overwhelm him, making him lightheaded: Unable to get air to his lungs, he had choked and willed himself to _Breathe_ … _Just breathe_ …

What he didn’t know was that he had sent that one word - a plea and a command - through the galaxy, to a little girl who had been choking on terror and grief and confusion as she shivered in the excavated belly of an ancient, rusting _AT-AT_ walker she had claimed as her own, her bed made of sand, her blanket a bloody Rebel Alliance jumpsuit salvaged from the innards of the now-defunct transport and combat vehicle. _Breathe_ …

He felt the ripple and release, as if the Force itself was sighing after holding its breath, and stilled, blinking, a slight frown drawing his brows together. Awareness prickled down his spine, and he glanced over his shoulder. He blinked again, confused, more than a little stunned - and something else… _relieved_. He didn’t understand why.

A little being appeared out of nowhere. Body wrapped in little more than dusty grey rags, except for skinny calves that showed sunburn, angry and irritated by a handful of small, jagged cuts, one knee shredded, blood seeping down her leg. And it was a _her_ : Because she was screaming and thrashing, hissing and spitting and fighting fiercely - and cursing violently in a language he didn’t know, her voice human and so _young_ it startled him, passionate and almost funny as he listened to such a voice cursing with such feeling from behind more swathes of frayed fabric pinned in place by Stormtrooper goggles far too big for her, knocked lopsided and revealing brunette hair coiled into braids that reminded him in a gut-wrenching instant of his mother.

He frowned, and focused, and was startled as several more creatures appeared, alien and humanoid, wrapped similarly in colourless garb, snarling and hooting and taunting the girl - he frowned, and felt the girl’s dread, her fury and annoyance at being assaulted, her determination to get out of this scrap - she would fight, and keep fighting: Because she would be ready…when they returned for her…

Still…a tiny little thing, she was, all sharp elbows and fragile limbs - he scowled, adjusted his grip on the staff resting in his hands, and reached out - with his emotions as much as his body, thrusting himself into the fray, fuelled by anger - and something else…instinct. Something fierce and bright and _good_ \- the instinct to _protect_.

He was young, but already tall. Slender, but strong. And he harnessed the Force instinctually as an extension of himself even as he thrust out with his staff. He was exceptionally well-trained since childhood: Drilling with his staff helped him clear his mind more than all Uncle Luke’s meditation. Focusing on nothing more than moving his muscles. They were more than second-nature, now.

He _knew_ this girl. This _child_. He _knew_ her, though they had never met. Knew this was nothing more than some queer anomaly of the Force, another…another trick, another vision… But she was clear as daylight, her presence in the Force luminous, pulsing with life, vital and coaxing, she drew him to her as nothing ever had, awing.

It was quick: Her attackers didn’t know what was happening before they were knocked into the sand, unconscious, some of them sporting broken jaws and cheekbones from the impact of his staff.

Panting, he was aware of the intense heat burning through his shirt, the sudden dry, fiery heat that stole his breath from his lungs, his footing uneven as the sand beneath his boots sifted and slid away, unsteady, unfamiliar.

The little girl coughed, rolled onto her knees, and tilted her head to one side as she hobbled to her feet, resting her weight on one leg - the one not bloodied by her shredded knee. She turned around in a slow circle, taking in the fallen aliens, finally turning to face him. Without removing her cowl, or the goggles that held it in place, she tilted her head to one side, staring up at him.

She was so _little_.

And she made his lips twitch as she took a defensive stance, balling up her tiny little fists in front of her chest. She didn’t even reach his hip, her clenched fists so small - but he glanced around at the aliens.

“You were gonna fight them all?” he asked in Basic, hoping she would understand, and the girl nodded. “Are you going to fight me?”

“Maybe,” she said fiercely, and his lips twitched again. He lanced his staff in the sand, sighing, and sank to one knee. He still loomed over her.

“You’re a brave little thing, aren’t you?” He reached out to tenderly touch the little dark braid that had come loose from her cowl, draped over her shoulder. Real. She was _real_. None of his visions, his nightmares, were ever tangible. And there was something…strange, something peaceful and exquisite and _right_ about kneeling in the sand with her, as if he had always meant to be here.

“Doesn’t take bravery for sandsnakes to bite back when they’re attacked,” she said sharply, and his lips twitched again.

“I suppose not. Well, you’re not gonna land many hits like that - not without hurting yourself. Can I show you?” Another tilt of her shrouded head. Then she raised her tiny fists to him, not in a threat but in supplication. He noticed the backs of her hands were sunburned, and all over her palms and fingers were blisters, burns and healing cuts, some of them shallow, some of them jagged and angry, some of them bruised. Reaching out, he carefully rearranged her fingers, wondering as he did so what kind of a life could already have left such damage on so young a person. Her hands were so tiny in his huge paws: he took great care, wincing at the injuries on her hands. Some looked like electrical burns - the kind he’d expect from an engineer who forgot to wear gloves around volatile wiring.

“There. Now you won’t break your thumbs if you hit someone,” he said softly. She raised her fists to her shielded eyes, and he thought she was examining the positioning of her fingers and thumbs. “Better yet,” he added, “you don’t pick a fight with six people, especially when they’re all bigger than you.”

“Then I wouldn’t be able to pick a fight with _anyone_!” the little girl said plaintively, and his lips twitched. “Anyway, _I_ didn’t pick a fight! _They_ did. How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

Her fists unfurled as she gestured around her expressively, at the unconscious aliens sprawled in the sand. His lips hitched up in one corner toward a smile. Then he reached for his staff.

“Here,” he said, handing it to her.

“It’s heavy,” she grunted, her tiny fingers unable to even curl around the staff properly. Again, his lips twitched.

“It’s heavy to make you strong,” he said thoughtfully. He hadn’t been much older than her, though already tall for his age, when he had become an apprentice - a _padawan_. He’d started with the staff, and even now, though he was building his own lightsaber, for drills and meditation he always turned to his staff. He remembered when it had been heavy, when returning to it in the morning made his muscles scream in protest from the day before - now it was an extension of him. “Turn your body sideways.”

Reaching out, he showed her the best posture. He was big, but Uncle Luke had taught Tai, slenderer and smaller than him, how best to situate his body to the maximum advantage when engaging in a saber-duel. Reducing the surface target was always wise in an altercation, anyway. “You’re small, that’s good.”

“ _You_ just said I shouldn’t _fight_ because I’m small,” she said exasperatedly, and he almost smiled again as she struggled to keep the staff raised in her hands.

“I said you shouldn’t pick a fight with six people,” he corrected. “I didn’t say you shouldn’t fight at all.”

He heard his name being called, echoing softly through the distortion of the Force, and glanced over his shoulder. Tai was waving at him, summoning him into the temple. His lips parted as he turned, realising he would have absolutely no way to explain the girl’s presence - or the incapacitated aliens - to Luke. He blinked. They were gone.

Ben Solo rose from his knees and frowned, reaching for his staff. It was gone.

* * *

Worlds away, a little girl blinked behind her dusty goggles, tilting her head. As suddenly as the boy had appeared, he was gone. The staff weighed heavily in her hands, which still hurt from Unkar Plutt’s last few tasks for him. She was tiny, with nimble fingers - she could get places the Crolute’s henchmen couldn’t. That made her valuable. Valuable meant she was worth something; she earned her portions. It was worth it to Unkar Plutt to teach her about ships and mechanics: She was learning how to fix things, and what to strip from them that was of value, was precious, and necessary.

Unkar Plutt had promised, if she did well, he’d teach her how to pilot - so when she was too big to fit into the little places she could still earn her portions. She didn’t much like that idea, though: She didn’t much like Unkar Plutt. And Niima Outpost smelled as pleasant as he did: She preferred it out in the sand dunes, where she could dream…

With a little sigh, she glanced around the other scavengers who had thought to harass her for what she had rightfully earned, through toil and determination and a complete lack of self-preservation. Parents taught their children caution.

Rey’s had lost her.

And the tricks and skills she had been picking up over the last few months for her own survival were now becoming second-nature; she looted the injured aliens for their scavenged mechanics and technology without remorse, and frowned, because she realised she couldn’t carry it all.

So, she stole a satchel from one Teedo, loaded it up, and frowned as she struggled with the staff. She remembered what the boy had done, how he had _moved_ with the staff, like nothing she had ever seen.

She reached up, adjusting the huge satchel that looked far too big for her, and the frayed suede cord draped around her neck threatening to choke her beneath her sandsashes. A crystal pressed comfortingly against her skinny chest, hidden by swathes of rough fabric, and she sighed, tilting her head at the horizon, where the sun made the dunes shimmer and bubble as it lowered, knowing she would not make it back to Niima Outpost before sunset.

Unkar Plutt had allowed her to go out and try her luck scavenging, laughing even as he did so: She had wanted to prove she knew what to look for, what he would find valuable - maybe he would give her _two_ portions for what she had found today!

Instead, she turned toward home, grateful for the chill wind whipping up as the sun set, to erase her retreating footsteps from the dunes.

After a few miles trudging over the dunes, panting and sweating from exertion, her little body still thrumming with heat from the blistering sun to keep her warm even in the chill of a desert night, she resorted to dragging the staff. It was too big. Too long, too heavy. But the way the boy had _used_ it.

Beneath her cowl, Rey’s lips twitched into a smile, remembering the way the aliens had shrieked and yelled and crumpled.

She had stared at him, through her goggles. She had never seen anyone like him at Niima Outpost. Very tall - taller even than monstrous Unkar Plutt - with cropped midnight-dark hair that couldn’t quite disguise his large ears, lips that seemed too pretty for a boy’s face, and dark eyes that had seemed at once sad and amused. His hands had been enormous, with long fingers, but he’d been _gentle_. She was getting used to rough hands.

He’d appeared out of nowhere and disappeared into the sands as if he was a _mirage_ , something her mind had made up in the heat of the sun.

But she knew he was real.

She didn’t think she had felt anything as real _ever_ in her whole life. His not-quite-smiling face, the tender way he touched her braid, teaching her how to hold her fists to throw a punch, she had tasted his aggression and his ferocity, and something else, too, something…familiar.

She had felt like _home_ \- even if she couldn’t remember what that was.

In her heart, she felt as if she _knew_ him, as if she always had. And…his _voice_ reminded her of her dreams, the ones she sometimes had, the scary ones that made Unkar Plutt seem not frightening at all.

Finally, she reached the AT-AT she had cleaned out and claimed. It wasn’t much, but it had sheltered her from a sandstorm, and it was here she had first felt it…the sigh and ripple, the coil and sweet coaxing of power, of life, of something greater than herself, flowing through her, all around her…it was here she had learned something about herself. She had special gifts. She could move things with her mind - she had stopped herself being buried by the sand as it blasted into the AT-AT during a storm, she had made a wall with her mind that the thrashing storm couldn’t get through.

Maybe that was why her parents had given her away.

She couldn’t remember where she had been before Jakku. All she could remember was fire, explosions, a droid, a man’s sad smile, a woman’s bright blue eyes, and the lullaby…

As she tugged her goggles off her head, she panted for breath, finally digging out her precious bottle, savouring a few trickles of life-giving liquid, and rested the staff against the wall. In the dark, she couldn’t see the scratches, but she knew they were there. One for every day she had been in Jakku - nearly every day, at least.

She tucked her scavenged and stolen items in a compartment buried beneath the sand, lest anyone find her in the AT-AT and try to steal it, and undid the cowl around her head. Settling into her bed, nothing more than a nest in the sand, her cowl bundled beneath her head, she sighed, and ignored the aching emptiness in her stomach, holding her fists out, the way the boy had showed her.

Rey wondered where he had gone.

When she slept, she dreamed of the island again, lush with green and surrounded by water as far as the eye could see.


	2. The Droid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I recently watched Rogue One and Mad Max: Fury Road, and I’ve taken a few things away from it. I’ll never forget Max stomping on and then eating raw the two-headed lizard in the desert. And Chirrut Îmwe is a legend.
> 
> I’m going to explore the idea that, as Ben Solo’s mind was cracked wide-open by Snoke to make him vulnerable to the lure of the Dark Side, Rey’s mind, connected to Ben’s, was also open to the influence of the Force: If Ben was manipulated by the Dark Side, Rey was guided by the Light - by specific Force-sensitive persons we all want to see more of! 
> 
> This is purely superficial, but I’m changing Rey’s hairstyle. I just can’t look past the awful silhouette!

**I Am Yours, You Are Mine**

_02_

_The Droid_

* * *

The explosions could be heard from miles away.

And standing in the starlight, one could be forgiven for thinking sunrise had, however briefly, forgotten itself and come too early: Fire billowed out over the horizon, miles away - toward Tuanul, the sacred village built overlooking Kelvin Ravine.

Tuanul, and all its residents, had been destroyed. She felt it in her heart, much like the scratches on her wall, digging in, seeping, wounded. For a moment, she couldn’t catch her breath. _Death_ whispered to her, death and pain, aggression, determination, serenity, peace, longing…one fed the other, on and on and on through eternity.

The blast wasn’t what drew Rey out of the shelter of her AT-AT in the middle of the night, when she should have been fast asleep after the exhausting day she’d had, scaling an impassable _Destroyer_ for salvage in the Graveyard of Giants. She should have been tucked inside her hard-earned sleeping-bag, ignoring the blasts, and the grim feeling in her heart.

It wasn’t that there was a _Destroyer_ lingering in the outer atmosphere making her anxious…she could _sense_ it, the same way she could always anticipate trouble, a talent Unkar Plutt found more valuable than her scavenging - and the blasts and violence confirmed it. Stormtroopers had been deployed, somehow she knew - everyone knew when things blew up unexpectedly, or people ended up dead in droves, it was the First Order to blame. Or _thank_ , depending on personal circumstances. For a moment, she thought of the other scavengers who lived closer to the settlement…but Tuanul was a sacred place; they eschewed technology to live a simpler life devoted to the Force. They wouldn’t have much of worth to loot even if she could get there before the others.

It was the death of Lor San Tekka she felt. The storyteller. A kind but strong-willed old man with a rumbly, rich voice and thousands of stories to tell. He was more eloquent than most Blarina, with all their words and soliloquies. He brought other worlds to life with his words. She didn’t know anyone else on Jakku who could do that. Now, gone. She felt it, and winced as she reached a hand to her heart, feeling it as if a laceration had sliced her skin open, slowly healing - soon to scar. She didn’t know how she knew, only that…Lor San Tekka would have smiled gently, his eyes kind and tired, and said it was _the Force_ , a luminosity that bound all living things, an energy that flowed between them, rising and lilting, ebbing and flowing, of which they were all a part of, and a part of which was them. She knew he would smile, and say, _No-one is ever really gone_.

He was one with the Force, and the Force was one with all…and through it, he would be with them, always.

Well, that was all very poetical and romantic, but it didn’t change the fact Rey would never trudge to Tuanul to listen to his stories ever again, to break the monotony of scavenging and being underpaid by Unkar Plutt for the excess of work she put in for him at the Outpost, more often than not repairing his absurd feats of failed engineering. He had taught her everything he knew; and she had long surpassed him in skill.

She sighed, gazing out over the stars. If Lor San Tekka’s faith was rewarded, he would be part of the glimmer of every star in the sky, Rey thought.

As the horizon darkened once more, Rey sighed, turning back to her AT-AT, pausing as a whisper sighed through her heart, and she glanced over her shoulder, heart hammering inside her chest, tensing as if to spring into action, drawn toward the Kelvin Ravine… She inhaled, exhaled… _Breathe_ …

There it was. Like trying to touch fire; she could feel its heat, was wary of its power, of the danger, but was entranced by the light, and reaching out, she felt that… _connection_ , that absurdly familiar presence that whispered through her mind, her heart, piercing her so strongly that it made her heart ache, as if a metal splinter had dug its way under her skin. _Lor San Tekka_ , she thought, and wobbled where she stood, a ferocious wave of sudden grief and guilt and torment and memory overwhelming her - not her own torment or grief. What did she have to feel guilt for? Suddenly dizzy, she blinked, and gasped, and was surrounded by eerily-masked humans wielding weapons that made her stomach churn with dread, and there was San Tekka, far younger than she had ever known him, hunched low between two men, one young, broad-shouldered and dark-haired, the other grizzled but bright-eyed, wielding _lightsabers_. Heart in her throat, Rey’s fingers twitched: She was unarmed, couldn’t defend herself. She blinked, and the men, every single one of them, disappeared. The wind whipped at the sand, and she staggered to the threshold of her home.

That hadn’t happened in quite a while.

Seeing things that were not her own memories. A while, since she had felt that connection, that…sense of _completeness_ …

Somewhere, across the sands…there was a… _someone_. Someone she had known for years yet never met. Whose voice she sometimes heard inside her head, whose nightmares trickled into her own, whose instincts had guided her, taught her. Someone who had known San Tekka - and killed him. And couldn’t stand the chaos that act created in him.

She felt - _pain_. Pain, a deep-seated uncertainty, confusion, anger - he hated the memories San Tekka’s face had dredged up, memories of a better time, a different life…one where he could never have anticipated the betrayal he was about to endure…

Rey grimaced, gasping softly in the still desert night, clutching a hand over her heart. Pain and grief and anger warred in her heart - grief at San Tekka’s death, and anger that she - _he_ \- felt such grief, such torment at committing the act. And a whisper, a tiny voice muted by nightmares and violence and betrayal, a tiny voice that moaned with grief and shame and whimpered in the pit of his heart, _This isn’t me…_

It was _him_.

She felt his grief, and his pain - and his torment. And she felt his presence, just over the ridge. Closer than she had ever felt him. Had he ever been to the Outer Rim before? Certainly she had never felt the bond this _strong_ before, washing over her, fierce and confusing and right, natural -and bewildering.

Every time she felt the soft sigh and ripple of… _something_ , power, or the Force, or whatever it was, whatever was connecting them, whatever allowed him to pour his nightmares into her head, whatever let her hum a lullaby to gentle him - if he had ever heard it, across the galaxies, she would have no way of knowing - it felt right. It felt…like the part of her that had always been missing, the aching chasm, yearning and empty…suddenly, filled. It was a heady sensation, one she relished too much than was good for her. She savoured every occurrence as most cherished every mouthful of clean water. They were essential, life-giving, as natural as night and day.

Rey frowned in the darkness. He was here. Closer than he had ever been.

And it was that instinct that had provoked her to the entrance to her home, more than anything, more even than the sudden loss of Lor San Tekka. That feeling - of _home_.

The urge to run out into the desert and find him.

But…

But he had arrived with Stormtroopers. Had descended from the _Destroyer_ waiting patiently among the stars, for whatever he had been sent down to Tuanul to do. Destroy the village. Destroy the old man full of stories of better worlds.

He had committed murder, and Rey tasted it in her mouth, in her heart, brittle and bitter and decaying, cold. _Fractious_.

Whoever he was, he was one of _them_.

The First Order.

In general, politics rarely made an impact on Rey’s daily life. Her small world consisted of Niima Outpost, the Starship Graveyard and, on occasion, the now-destroyed Tuanul. Jakku was neither occupied by the First Order nor in open rebellion against them: Jakku just was what it was. What it had always been. A junkyard, a forgotten desert planet nobody ever came to unless they _had_ to - unless they had no other choice. It was neither prosperous nor populous, had no natural minerals or ore, had nothing to offer but scrap, and was too far out of the way of any reputable trade-routes. It was a little and forgotten speck of sand in the grand system of the galaxy. The people of Jakku enjoyed their freedom, and it was generally thought that as long as the First Order didn’t touch them, there was no need to insert themselves in the conflict growing between the New Republic and the resurgent remnants of the Empire, now known as the First Order.

On a smaller scale, Rey had learned that as long as things didn’t come near her, they didn’t concern her. She kept out of the way, as much as possible…didn’t tend to pick fights unless absolutely necessary.

And if she had to fight, she made sure to win.

No matter her curiosity, no matter how exquisite the feeling of…of _home_ …she resisted the urge, the instinct, to run headlong toward Tuanul.

Just as well.

The village had been destroyed. A raptor-like black _TIE Silencer_ rose from the sands with a roar of powerful engines, sleek and breathlessly intimidating, bearing Poe Dameron toward the _Destroyer_ waiting to provide the First Order’s best hospitality, at the mercy of a masked giant throbbing with power.

* * *

A tiny white-and-orange astromech droid skimmed across the sand, occasionally beeping in despair, running diagnostics. If a droid could panic, BB-8 was coming close to it. His master had been taken by hostiles; and he had the precious fragment of map encased inside a little capsule for safety. How to get it to the Ileenium System, to General Organa?

Lenses gleaming in the starlight, BB-8 let out a little sigh and a sequence of little, lonely beeps, scanning the horizon, running diagnostics on his surroundings, analysing the terrain - and its dangers, calculating the safest route to avoid salt-flats and sinking fields, thermal sensors picking up what his databanks matched to the descriptions of a _nightwatcher worm_. He let out a tiny gasp. They _ate metal_.

Carefully, BB-8 skimmed over the sand dunes, seeking non-hostile life-forms. How to transmit the map fragment to the Resistance?

Where was his master?

As he zoomed over the dunes, BB-8 calculated the likelihood of his master returning. Knowing what he did about the First Order, and the organic that had captured his master, BB-8 knew with absolute certainty that the odds were 98256 to one.

Master Poe had given his orders. And BB-8 knew he, with the fragment of map safe within him, was essential to General Organa’s plans for the Resistance. He could not go into low-power mode because he had been separate from his master. The Resistance could not afford for him to go into low-power mode. He chirped in the dark, his sensors picking up a scour of skittermice stripping the organic matter from a lump BB-8 identified as dead matter, a _ripper raptor_ or Vworkka by its oversize beak, if BB-8’s encyclopaedia of Jakkuvian organics was up-to-date. Another lens blinked as BB-8 whirred and avoided a salt-plain, peering into the skies for any avian predators that might attack him.

For a desolate place, there were many hazards catalogued against the desert of Jakku profile kept within his memory-banks. Almost every star, asteroid, moon and planet in the galaxy, BB-8 had at least some little information on: There was little of interest about Jakku, except for the decisive Battle of Jakku that saw the destruction of the Galactic Empire. He scanned the horizon, identifying an _Executor_ -class Star Dreadnought as the _Ravager_ , skeleton of the Galactic Imperial Navy, reminder of the Battle, symbol of the destruction of the Empire.

BB-8 knew his master would have said that the _Ravager_ was yet another scar the Empire had left on the galaxy, its warships strewn across planets and moons, pockmarking deserts and meadows and cities, forgotten pilots conscripted into service left to become nothing more than charred bones on a barren desert planet far from home.

With a soft, agitated sound, BB-8 rolled toward the _Ravager_ , running diagnostics again, deciding it was as safe a place as any in the desert to tuck himself away and recharge. At sunrise he must find a ship to take him…somewhere. He knew where he needed to get to - BB-8 just had to figure out how to get there. He powered down before his calculations could ascertain just how likely it was he would ever reach the Ileenium System to deliver General Organa’s precious information.

Poe had given him a mission: BB-8 would see it completed.

Somehow.

* * *

Her entire body was covered in sweat, she was dizzy with dehydration, her muscles were burning, but she felt the thrum of power, of light, seeping through her limbs and smiled softly to herself as the sun started to crest the horizon, painting the black world with washes of gold and red, fuchsia and purple - sunset and sunrise were the only times such colours ever existed in Jakku, and Rey savoured every one of them.

She longed to see _green_. She had only ever seen it in her dreams.

There was a sharp, tempered rap on her knuckles that made her hiss and swear, scowling at the shimmering man wreathed in pale bluish-white light. Ordinarily, a hit like that would have resulted in broken knuckles. It was a warning. Intangible most of the time, serene and wry always, the quarterstaff he carried in his hands gleamed as Chirrut smirked at her. She had allowed the sunrise to distract her, believing their exercises over. Every morning before dawn, for as long as Rey could remember, the robed man had appeared to her: They drilled with staffs, until her bones were bruised and her muscles screamed in agony and serenity tempered ferocity, honing her senses as she delved deeper into the bond, the power she felt seeping through her, connecting her not only to Chirrut but to the sand at her feet, the fleeting moisture in the desert night air, the sand-lizards scurrying in their burrows, the villagers of Niima.

She didn’t know where he had come from, or why he had decided that he would bother _her_ , persistently, every day for weeks, until in annoyance and pure aggression one morning after a particularly harrowing nightmare of a lightning-struck temple strewn with the bodies of dead children, she had picked up the staff leaning against her scratched wall and tried to whack him with it. Her stunned disbelief when her staff connected with his in a blow that shuddered through her arms still reverberated through her memory even now, tiny though she had been, years after finding herself stranded in Jakku, many long months after…after the _boy_.

Where he had disappeared to, all those years ago, she would never find out; but he had left behind his quarterstaff, and in the weeks and then months that followed, she had done her utmost to remember how he had moved, wielding the quarterstaff like an extension of his own body.

The boy had left the staff: Chirrut had pestered her until eventually, she had allowed him to teach her how to wield it. He’d taught her a great many other things besides simply wielding the staff as a lethal weapon. He had an ironic sense of humour, irritatingly arcane wisdom out of place in the context of her life, and had taught her breathing exercises to help her through her panic. It was the boy’s voice, she knew, all these years later, that had first pleaded and ordered her to _breathe_ during her first panic-attack: It was Chirrut who had taught her how to do more than just catch her breath - how to harness her fear as a strength, without giving in to it.

But that didn’t mean Chirrut didn’t irritate her. Especially after a gruelling training session, her knees shaking from exertion, her fingers numb, palms ragged, blisters burst, bleeding all over the Bloggin leather and Rebel Alliance jumpsuit fabric covering the quarterstaff’s grips. Especially when all she’d eaten in the last week was two measly half-portions Unkar Plutt had deigned to pay her for her salvage, and a sand-lizard unfortunate enough to scurry across her path at dusk.

“Once more,” Chirrut told her gently, his lips twitching with irony. Always, once more.

If she never heard that phrase again, it would be too soon.

She took her defensive stance, but Chirrut shifted his position - forcing her to take the offensive. She didn’t like attacking; never liked to make the first move. This hesitancy, her instinct to hold back, he had taught her, was beneficial, not cowardice: It allowed her precious seconds to familiarise herself with her surroundings, count her assailants, and assess their skills and intent. Taking those few precious seconds to read her attackers was more important, sometimes, than instantly engaging. A duel was not, as myths and legends claimed, decided by the first clash of weapons. Every strike counted. He had taught her how to make them count.

As much as she could be taught mastery with such limited experience as the Jakku desert afforded her, Chirrut had trained her to master the quarterstaff - and master _herself_. At least, he had taken on the colossal task of _attempting_ to, for which his shimmering ghost should be commended.

Rey was nothing if not stubborn. She had to be: How would she have survived otherwise, if she had not determined to do so?

As Chirrut often smirked, it wasn’t as if he had much else to do besides pester her.

One final drill for the day, before the sun fully rose above the horizon, chasing away the shadows like naughty children, and Chirrut melted away like a mirage, leaving Rey in exquisite agony. She stretched with a luxurious groan.

The thing about her training exercises was that, as punishing as they were, there was nothing like stretching after them, doing exercises Chirrut had taught her to increase her flexibility, keeping her supple, soothing her muscles, tempering the ache. It was deeply satisfying to stretch after them, and filled her with energy, so she could wrap herself up in her cowls, pull on her gloves of Bloggin leather, adjust her goggles - claimed and repurposed from an old Stormtrooper helmet - and head out for another day in the blistering, relentless, unforgiving heat of the desert.

If not for the training, and the conversations with the shimmering echoes of people long-dead who delighted in annoying her (of whom Chirrut was only one) the mental torpor would have destroyed Rey long ago. Her mind would have atrophied beyond salvaging, even if her body had continued hale and strong, defying everyone’s expectations of the fragile little human waifling who had found herself marooned on the hostile desert planet, knowing only her name, and the name of her mother, “Mylove.”

Tightening the lashes binding her trousers around her knees, she reached up to check the two buns coiled at the nape of her neck, pinned in place, not quite neat but at least out of the way, wrapped her cowl over her head, emptied the sand out of her boots, made sure her skin was covered, and hitched her satchel over her back, reaching for her quarterstaff.

She climbed onto her speeder, a pile of junk boasting twin-engines: At any given time, one or the other worked well. Never both. It was a quirk of her speeder that Rey liked: She could rely upon the unreliability of her speeder to ensure no other scavenger who thought to steal it from her kept hold of it for long.

Another long day. Scavenging sights were few and far between, and jealously guarded, especially when lucrative spots were found. Rey had learned to hide things she had discovered - if she could afford to hide machinery and technology, she cached it away for later, for when she had truly bad luck. She had had a few bouts of that - bad luck. They never lasted for long - it never became so appalling that she had to give Unkar Plutt’s offer for work serious consideration. She had long outgrown being useful inside the machines, where her tiny stature and nimble fingers were miracle-workers: And Unkar Plutt had never forgiven her for actually being able to survive as a scavenger. He did not own her: She had grown up knowing that fact as absolute. And when she had decided to strike out into the desert on her own, Unkar Plutt had laughed, but allowed her to go, underestimating just how bitterly she disliked him, and wanted to prove everyone wrong. For years, she had lived in her AT-AT, _Hellhound Two_ , viciously guarding her home, and learning how to survive out in the desert through trials and many errors. Occasionally Unkar Plutt threw engineering tasks her way, earning a few days’ portions, because she had an affinity for technology and mechanics, but Unkar Plutt begrudged having to ask for her help, and would just as rather do the opposite of what she advised - case in point, the ancient _Corellian_ freighter that had stood idle on the landing-pad for years, botched and abandoned, rarely ever flown, and even less regularly given proper maintenance unless Rey had venture onto the ship in spite of Unkar Plutt.

She yielded a quarter-portion from Unkar Plutt, after taking the time to clean up and polish the parts she had spent _hours_ manoeuvring to claim. Appearance mattered. Not hers: The parts she had scavenged. She had learned that things had to _look_ valuable, even if they didn’t seem like they were.

As if determined to undermine her resilience, her years-long efforts to sustain herself on salvaging the Graveyard, Unkar Plutt perpetually underpaid her what her salvaged goods were worth. Everyone knew he ran Niima Outpost: Only Rey continued to blatantly defy him, in quietly and continually defying his expectations of her ability to survive. But she _had_ survived, when he had assured her she wouldn’t be able to do so without him. So, he grudgingly paid her, but far less what he would usually give another scavenger.

Still. A quarter-portion was more than nothing. More than an empty belly. She took it, with a bland expression that never betrayed how much Unkar Plutt nauseated her. To tell someone like Unkar Plutt they were unattractive was as dangerous as mentioning he may in fact be plagued with chronic stupidity: She knew better than to provoke Unkar into thinking she believed both to be true. She had to survive out here, after all: And if she upset Unkar Plutt, she was done for.

She could do without the ration-packs, as others would trade for Bloggin meat, and she was a fair huntress if she needed to resort to living off lizards and skittermice: But Unkar Plutt owned all the water. She couldn’t live without water. Three days and she’d be nothing more than ripper-raptors’ dinner.

Rey lived by two certainties.

The first: _Might made right_.

Secondly, and sometimes more importantly: Give sass and starve.

It was a simple way to live but she had survived this long by observing those two laws. The desert had no moral code by which it decided who was worthy to survive - or not, as the case most likely turned out to be. She wouldn’t apologise for being as ruthless as this world had made her.

It didn’t for a moment mean she was content to live this way. Or that she felt it was _right_ : Just that it was the only way she knew. The only way this world allowed.

It didn’t mean she was blind to injustice, to cruelty, to _nastiness_. Didn’t mean she would give what little she did have to help others. She was skilled, young, strong and able-bodied. Others were not as fortunate.

Her body aching, she wiped sweat from her face with her grubby arm-sashes, turning the unidentifiable green meat-stuff over on the hotplate as it sizzled and snapped, turning to the ration-pack. She tipped the dark beige powder into a dented cup half full of clear, pure water, dipping a fingertip to stir so the liquid started to fizz. Her least-favourite was what Unkar Plutt called the bread: A dubious green colour, it was cracked, heavy and dense to chew. And it cost her that half-cup of clean water. Sometimes she stockpiled the bread rations, rather than use up her precious water: But she hadn’t eaten regularly the last few weeks, and she knew she needed the food, however grim it tasted. It was the texture she could never quite understand.

Perhaps, in the back of her memory, she remembered what real bread was supposed to taste like. She knew _meat_ well enough - Bloggin was fair, lizard a good deal chewier. Crickets, somewhat decent, once she got past the legs. But bread… With a makeshift spatula she lifted the meat substitute from the burner onto an old metal plate, scooping up the palm-sized lump of cracked green breadstuff, and ducked out of the auxiliary hatch that functioned as her front-door. She had long ago welded the hatches shut, to defend her home against other scavengers. It wasn’t much: But it was all she had.

She settled against the base of one of the AT-AT’s four mechanised, long-atrophied legs, plate in her lap, and enjoyed the relative shade, watching in the distance as a ship blasted off from Niima Outpost. Of course it was Niima: There were no other settlements nearby. She had heard in the junkyard that it was true, what she had dreaded last night: That Tuanul had been sacked by Stormtroopers. No survivors.

It had been confirmed, of course, because a few enterprising - _unscrupulous_ \- scavengers had picked over what little had remained after the Stormtroopers blasted everything to oblivion. Nothing but bodies: And the ripper-raptors and gnaw-jaws had already been seeing to the dead.

Rey watched the ship rise from Niima, and found herself starting to daydream. Which ship had just taken off? Who was it carrying - and where were they going? Anywhere was better than here. Perhaps not anywhere, she amended: She had heard plenty of stories from Offworlders who had been to places even worse than Jakku. It sounded impossible: But they had shared their stories, and halfway convinced her.

She licked her plate clean of the last oily drop of meatish juice, reaching down to use a handful of sand to clean the dented metal, scouring it. She sat with her legs out, ankles crossed, and reached with a little smile for the battered Rebel Alliance pilot’s helmet she had found, and decided to keep to replace her goggles; one of the lenses had cracked during a confrontation with a Teedo a few days ago. He’d been rude: She’d been hungry. The Teedo would remember the experience long after his bruises faded.

The helmet was too big for her, and the visor saturated everything with an even more vivid orange tint than usual as the sun sank low in the sky. Still, it was fun to imagine herself, thirty years ago, one among the many Rebel Alliance pilots who had fought so bravely…and died so far from home. She sympathised with them…but it must have been pretty horrific for them that they had been willing to give their lives here, in Jakku, to stop the Empire.

She wondered what it had been like, the Rebellion. She knew the stories. The myths and legends that had trickled to Niima Outpost over the years…and Lor San Tekka’s stories had been the best of them all. The way he told the stories, Rey almost believed he had _known_ Princess Leia of Alderaan, Han Solo the smuggler and the last Jedi, Luke Skywalker.

For a fleeting moment, Rey wondered if the First Order had come to kill Lor San Tekka _because_ he had indeed known the Rebel Alliance war-heroes.

Then a shrill, panicked stream of binary pierced the still evening air, and for a heartbeat Rey thought the communications within the helmet were still live. She sat up straight, listening - and it happened again. Hastily tugging the helmet off, she rose to her feet, her muscles aching dully in protest, and strode through the sand toward the source of the noise, a droid warbling in utter panic, _Help! Help! HELP! You can’t take me! I have a mission to complete!_

Grabbing her staff, she ran toward the noise, scowling as she crested a dune, and narrowed her eyes in distaste. An armoured luggabeast, and astride it, her good friend the Teedo.

He had snared a droid.

She had never seen one like it before - spherical, bright white and orange against the dull sand, it looked utterly out of place, the newest model she had ever seen in a _BB_ droid. New droids never tended to end up in Jakku. And this droid was lit up with terror, beeping and chirping, trilling away, high-pitched and frightened, desperate, its rotund body spinning uselessly against the sand and the woven net it had found itself captured in.

Bellowing out in perfect, brutal Teedo, Rey advanced, all but ignoring the Teedo, who sat unsteady on his lumbering mount, and could do nothing to stop her stalking over, her knife freed of its holster at her hip, to cut the net loose from the luggabeast’s harness. She would never cut the net itself - it was too useful, and the coils of rope fell heavily into the sand as the Teedo swore and cursed at her, waving his long, slender staff threateningly.

A brief, violent argument - exchanging _pleasantries_ \- and the Teedo snarled and hissed a final curse at her, something alluding to her mother, and dug its heels into the luggabeast, who lumbered on as if nothing had happened. Of course, luggabeasts were about as clever as Bloggins and of course, wouldn’t have noticed anything was wrong.

The droid issued a string of beeps and chirps and whirring as it rocked in the sand, and Rey hushed it as she stooped to free it from the net, excited and agitated and, by the sound of it, itching to have a go at the Teedo who had assaulted him.

“Shhh,” she warned, not keen to get into a fight this late at night - especially not this close to him. Brawling over stolen loot was one thing: To lead other scavengers to her doorstep was all but inviting a knife to her throat. She freed the droid, who rolled around freely, emitting a soft, relieved sort of purr, and its glossy black photoreceptor swivelled to the Teedo as it issued another string of beeps. Making sure the Teedo was moving on its way? The droid swivelled its domed head over its globous body to peer up at Rey.

_Do you know that organic_?

“Oh, that’s just one of the Teedo,” Rey scowled. “Had a brush with him last week - he cracked my goggle lens, but I broke his arm. That’s why he backed off tonight, or you’d have been in more trouble.”

A binary equivalent of a chuckle, followed by a soft, appreciative purr. Rey scowled at the retreating luggabeast, the Teedo glancing occasionally over his shoulder at her, his seething words echoing in her mind. “He’ll have his eye on you for parts, you know…” She glanced down at the droid, and sank to her knees - there was no being crept up on by a luggabeast, or a cowardly, hurting Teedo: She had nothing to worry about by him. The little droid’s photoreceptor remained fixed on her face. “You’re not from around here.” A few beeps. “How do I know?” Her lips twitched wryly. “You’re far too new, and your paint is far too fresh. There’s not many a droid painted white and orange.”

_I’m one of a kind_ , beeped the droid. Rey grinned.

“Are you?” The droid spun its body, humming proudly. “Well, how did you get so far out into the Goazon Badlands?”

_I am trying to find a way off this planet_.

“Aren’t we all?” Rey smiled softly. “You didn’t come here alone. Where’s your master?”

Nothing, for a moment. Then, _Stormtroopers took him_.

“You were at Tuanul!” Rey gasped, and the droid sighed sadly, his head drooping. “People said it was bad. I knew a lot of those people.”

_They were very brave_ , said the droid, making Rey’s eyebrows rise. Whether or not droids _felt_ was a philosophical argument Rey had never given much thought to: Most of the droids at Niima were outdated and abused, and their personalities were bitter and rundown. They didn’t exactly inspire an urge to converse. Not like this little droid, with his happy little chirps and purrs and soft sighs.

“I suppose so,” Rey said quietly. “Doesn’t matter now, though; they’re all dead. But the First Order took your master away?”

_Yes. He sent me away. I have to finish his mission_.

“What mission?” Rey asked, only fleetingly curious. The little droid remained motionless: It wouldn’t answer.

_He said he will return for me_.

That made her raise her eyebrows. If people came to Jakku, and had the fortune to ever leave, they never came back if they could help it.

“Did he?”

_Yes. We have to finish the mission_.

“Well…I suppose…if the First Order took him alive, that means your master is quite important,” Rey said. She didn’t know much about the First Order, or the Resistance, but even she knew that it was easier to just kill your enemy: If you kept them alive, you either wanted something from them, or wanted something from people who placed value in them. “They’ll probably keep him alive. Maybe he’ll escape.”

She doubted he could escape the First Order.

_He will_ , chirped the droid confidently. _My master has had lots of adventures_.

“Adventures, really? Perhaps you could tell me about some of them?” Rey said, smiling. She gazed out at the darkening sand-dunes. “You’re not going to last long out here waiting for him…” She gazed at the little droid. Abandoned by his master, filled with purpose, even if the droid wasn’t programmed to know it was… _hope_ … She thought of the scratches on her wall, and sighed. “I wouldn’t recommend heading into Niima Outpost alone; you’ll be stripped for parts before you can complete a risk-assessment.”

The little droid seemed to gasp, rolling back slightly in shock.

“You’re welcome to wait with me, if you’d like. Just for the night. But it’ll be safer in my home than out here. Anything and _everything_ will try to eat you.” The little droid hummed uneasily. “Tomorrow I’ll take you to Niima Outpost, and help you get on a ship.”

The little droid purred appreciatively.

“Come on, then,” Rey sighed, climbing to her feet. She picked up her quarterstaff, and the net, scowling into the dying sun to ensure the luggabeast and its rider were still heading away, and the little droid skimmed across the sand like a snake. For a moment, Rey stared grimly at the droid, her muscles aching as she strode through the sand, which gave way underfoot, as it always did. She had no memory of knowing how it felt to find solid footing.

The little droid’s photoreceptor spun and whirled as it crested the dune and noticed her home, the felled AT-AT, and she noticed one of its two short antennae was bent from its brief captivity.

_Is this where you live_?

“It is,” Rey told him. “Home sweet home.” As the sun set, darkness swept across the desert, and the little droid chirped softly before illuminating one of its smaller lenses, lighting up the auxiliary hatch - the droid had no need of the light, Rey realised, but…he had considerately lit up the passage for her, as if it was in his programming to do such a thing without having to be asked.

Inside, the little droid scanned its surroundings, and started to weeble around, identifying the doll she had made out of a Rebel Alliance pilot’s jumpsuit, chirping the true name of the dried desert flowers resting, colourless and brittle, in a jagged scrap of pipe. He made a thoughtful noise as his photoreceptor scanned the wall, and his head swivelled to her.

_What are they for_? he asked curiously.

“One mark for every day I’ve been on Jakku,” Rey told him softly, illuminating her one lamp. “One mark for every day I’ve been separated from my family.”

_There are 4,582 marks._

“Really?” Rey gulped, glancing at the wall. The tiny scratches had revealed silver steel beneath the paint, and the wall glinted almost like starlight in the glow of the lamp. “I’ve never counted them all before.”

_There are 352 days in every orbital period for the desert planet Jakku. You have been separated from your family for 13 years and six days_.

“Is that all?” Rey asked softly, settling onto her sleeping-bag, stunned. The little droid kept staring at the wall, in as much as a droid could _stare_ at anything. “Don’t worry, I’m sure your master won’t be gone that long.” The droid made a mournful little sound that, even to Rey’s ears, sounded heartsick. She knew that sound. Her heart made that sound with every scratch she marked onto the wall.

“Here - your antenna is bent,” she said, and the droid swivelled toward her. “May I fix it for you?”

_Yes, please_.

“You’re a very polite droid.”

_My master says it pays to be polite_.

“He’s not wrong,” Rey said, thinking of Unkar Plutt. She reached out, detaching one of two short antennae. “Can you share any more of your master’s wisdom?”

The photoreceptor went dark, as if the droid was blinking, and a second later, a male and thoroughly human voice told her, “ _You do good things, and good things will come back to you_.”

The sound of the voice… “He has a handsome voice. And he sounds cheerful. Is he a good master?”

Even to someone not fluent in Binary, the little droid’s enthusiastic beeps and trills and swooping whirls could only be translated as: _Yes_!

“What’s his name?” Rey asked, wondering briefly about this little droid’s master, captive of the First Order, who believed, as the droid had provided evidence, that kindness paid itself back in turn. The little droid beeped. “Classified? Well…what does he call you? What can _I_ call you, at least?” The little droid beeped proudly. “BeeBee-Ate. It’s very nice to meet you, BeeBee-Ate.” He chirped, rolling slightly in the sand. “Me? I’m Rey.”

BB-8 cooed at her, and she smiled softly in the half-light. She adjusted her sleeping-bag, and BB-8’s photoreceptor glinted as it followed her movements. He moved slightly, nestling himself into the sand as she had. She reached out with her mind, and the light dimmed, extinguishing. The ability to seize objects, manipulate them, had been developed over years; now she could work on engines as nimbly with her mind as with her fingers: Turning off the lamp with her mind was effortless.

She sighed, and BB-8 chirped softly. If he had been human, it may have been the equivalent of a yawn.

Rey sighed, settling into her sleeping-bag, and started to hum. Her lullaby.

Drifting off, she blinked, confused, when bluish light suddenly sparkled in the hollowed-out interior of the AT-AT. She turned over in the sleeping-bag, and gazed up, not at a Force ghost, but…a hologram.

BB-8 started playing music, and accompanying it was a hologram recording of a human female in ethereal clothing and a male in slim-fitting clothes _dancing_ in a way Rey had no idea anyone could move, sinuous and elegant, effortless and powerful and dreamlike. BB-8’s stereo system filling the AT-AT with music, grand swells, sweet melodies, rich motifs that filled her heart with joy and grief and wonder and awe as she watched the slender woman elegantly twirl and spin, dancing on the tips of her toes, her arms graceful, the man lifting her effortlessly, dancing together, until Rey couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

It was her lullaby. But…richer, _grand_.

The lullaby she remembered, had sung to herself over thirteen years and six days, the lullaby her mother used to hum to her.

Someone had used musical instruments to create it into something _extraordinary_.

Rey watched, and her heart ached. Her eyes burned, and tears trickled down her cheeks as she watched in awe and heartbreak.

She sniffed, and the hologram disappeared as silence claimed the last lingering notes of the music. BB-8 moved as close to her as his protocols permitted and beeped softly.

“What? No, I’m not cryng!” she sniffed miserably. BB-8 chirped softly. “I was not! Just a bit of sand. This whole world is nothing but a grain of sand.” BB-8 cooed curiously, and Rey glanced at him, smiling despite herself, pushing tears out of her eyes. “No, I don’t have a world in my eye.”

He cooed softly.

“Thank you, BeeBee-Ate,” she said hoarsely, and she meant it. “That was…beautiful.” BB-8 chirped softly. “Come on, it’s time for you to power down. It’s time for _me_ to power down… Thank you for the music.”

She couldn’t help wonder, drifting off to sleep with the song echoing in her mind, where BB-8 had come across that recording. Which world, however many systems away, he had stored the data. Had heard the song. He had recorded her humming, she realised, matching it to his databanks. And had shown her the hologram, with the music.

_You do good things, and good things will come back to you_ , BB-8’s master had told him.

Perhaps it was his way of thanking her for giving him shelter for the night, for freeing him from the Teedo, for fixing his antenna. She couldn’t say why she had done any of those things…only, it would have felt wrong not to.

She turned over in her sleeping-bag, wiping her eyes, and saw that BB-8 had indeed powered down, his lights blinking only occasionally in lower-power mode.

She’d never had her own droid. She’d never had much company. But she…liked this little droid, with his sweet, sometimes precocious little personality, and his _kindness_. BB-8 had proudly declared himself one-of-a-kind. Rey didn’t know anything about the greater universe, but she could honestly say she believed he was probably right.

Droids just weren’t programmed the way he was.

_Is there a world in your eye_?

She wondered how people learned to dance like that.

Her dreams were filled with the music BB-8 had given her, and she slipped into a deep, contented sleep for the first time in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been reading the novelisations. Also, I can’t decide between “Across the Stars” or “Ben Solo Theme” by Samuel Kim as Rey’s lullaby; it’s a pas-de-deux being danced to the recording, if you can imagine it.


	3. Fight & Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how long space-travel takes: I’m going under the assumption that the First Order works Poe Dameron over for a few days before Ren has at him. Mostly because I would guess Hux would refuse to acknowledge Ren could get something out of Poe that his men couldn’t.
> 
> Also, I’ve clearly watched WALL-E too many times: I can’t imagine Rey scavenging with BB-8 by her side without BB-8 playing ‘Put on Your Sunday Clothes’… I think WALL-E and BB-8 would be besties.
> 
> I’m trying to figure out a way to bring Baby Yoda in, later on (if he’s a toddler at fifty, at seventy-five he’s still likely the equivalent of about five - I imagine him a bit like Stitch from Lilo & Stitch by that age!) Can you imagine The Child bonding with a reluctant Ben Solo - and BB-8 babysitting/enabling Baby Yoda’s chaos! I can see the arguments between dads Poe and Ben over their two anarchic little cinnamon-roll babies now, meanwhile Leia Organa takes her grandchild to the Senate for Bring Your Baby to Work Day, and The Child likes playing with her gold earrings. #SassyGrandmaGetsShitDone
> 
> I’ve also decided I watched the training montage of the Amazons in Wonder Woman too many times; I wish Daisy Ridley had softened her accent for the film, not quite Gal Gadot but not as abruptly English (and this is coming from an Englishwoman - it’s very jarring to hear her accent when surrounded by all the Americans). So, I want to give Rey some of Diana’s rich purring accent, to soften her up a little bit. Because if Kylo Ren is pure rage, ferocity and aggression, with a calm, cool voice, I want Rey’s voice to be understated, sultry, warm, gentle and coaxing. Also, Cassian Andor had an accent, so.

**I Am Yours, You Are Mine**

_03_

_Fight & Flight_

* * *

By the third morning, Rey had to admit to herself that she was _accustomed_ to BB-8’s presence.

The only droids she had ever met were the cantankerous ones at Niima Outpost: BB-8 was… _sweet_. He had a charming, upbeat personality, usually always asking questions, or chirping happily, though Rey wondered in his quiet moments whether he was thinking of his lost master.

During the first day, BB-8 had determined to stay at the _Hellhound Two_ to work on some internal repairs, and run diagnostics. Rey got the sense he was… _frightened_ to leave the AT-AT.

He didn’t want to get stolen and sold for parts. Also…

 _They might come after me with blasters_ , he had told her, which was a fair assumption, given his master had gotten himself tangled up with the First Order. When he had blocked the auxiliary hatch that first morning, and her escape, he had relented and moved only when she had promised to find out whether any strangers had arrived in Niima Outpost, looking for a droid. He had refused to show her a hologram of his master; but she remembered the sound of his voice, and thought she could match it to any stranger at the Outpost.

All BB-8 could say of his master was that he was a pilot. Everything else was classified.

It was all very secretive: And Rey wondered who had programmed BB-8 with a healthy dose of self-preservation instincts, to tuck himself out of sight inside her home while he waited for his master to return to claim him. She wondered about BB-8’s master, with the handsome voice and the philosophy on kindness, and his adventures. In the evenings as she ate her meagre rations, BB-8 told her stories of the adventures he had shared with his master. There was something almost poetic about the way he told stories. Sometimes, as with that first night, BB-8 lit up the inside of the AT-AT with blue holograms to accompany the stories, flashes of memory and recordings, maps and images.

Each night as she had tucked herself into her sleeping-bag, he had played her lullaby.

Whoever had programmed BB-8 had been exceptional: And his master was obviously a very decent person. BB-8’s _character_ wouldn’t have lasted long with the sorts of people Rey knew. It was as if BB-8’s exceptional quirks had been nurtured.

And he was a fine mechanic. On the third day, he had accompanied her while she scavenged. And she wondered why more scavengers didn’t appreciate the value of having a droid companion: His sensors picked up things even her trained eyes missed, and he was skilled in repairs, concealing an arc welder, welding torch and grappling lines within his body, and yet more tools nestled safely within his six circular tool-bay disks.

It was strange to work beside the droid, only because she was used to complete and utter solitude. But BB-8 was used to company. He continued to tell her stories, as they scavenged, and her lips twitched beneath her cowl at the jokes he told. He had a sense of comedic timing most on Jakku would not appreciate. And sometimes, he would play music. He had sensed she liked and appreciated the lullaby, and at times, when she paused for breath, he would start playing more music. Songs from distant worlds, lullabies, _operas_. When she asked how an astromech had acquired so much music saved into his memory-banks, BB-8 chirped happily about his friends; she had learned not to probe by asking where those friends might be. Classified.

She was pleased with her day’s haul, claiming, amongst other things, two interlifts. One was missing the membrane, which Unkar Plutt wouldn’t like, but he had told her last week he was looking for more, and would pay. He never said he would pay _well_ , but one functional interlift and another needing only minimal repairs was better than nothing, and he knew it. Not that he’d give her what they were worth. She knew his game all too well.

BB-8 rolled beside her, braving Niima for the first time, keeping close to her side as she dragged her haul toward the Outpost and Unkar Plutt’s tent. He let out a mournful little sound: _It’s not very impressive_.

“No,” Rey agreed. In terms of appeal, Niima Outpost resembled the cleft between a happabore’s buttocks. It was better to keep one’s distance. “Still…it’s what we have. C’mon. I need to clean this and trade it in. Then we can ask around. Though your paint-job is so striking I’m sure your master can spot you a mile away.”

BB-8 chirped fondly, spinning his body in a movement Rey might have called _smug_. He was very proud of his _one-of-a-kind_ paint-job.

“You’d best hope he gets here soon,” Rey warned. “Another few months and the sand will have abraded the paint away.”

BB-8 gasped in horror, his photoreceptor flashing in the sunlight as he gazed up at her.

“That’s the thing about Jakku. Everything starts to take on the same colour eventually,” Rey sighed. “The colour of _sand_ … Still, it might be better for you if you did lose your paint-job: if you’re worried the First Order might come after you, they’ll know your appearance.”

BB-8 sighed softly, his head bowing, then he swivelled to focus his photoreceptor on her, beeping excitedly. “Can I repaint you? It would take me a while to scavenge enough to trade for the paint…but we’ll see.”

 _What if my master doesn’t recognise me_?

“I’m sure he doesn’t need paint to recognise you, BeeBee-Ate,” Rey assured the mournful little droid, and she reached out without even thinking about it, to pat his side comfortingly. BB-8 made a more optimistic little beep, rolling beside her as she dragged her salvaged items under the blessed shade of the tent, and swivelled his head to take in his surroundings, documenting everything for possible information while Rey busied herself cleaning the scrap parts.

She knew who to trade with, and for what. There was very little Rey _needed_ \- her _wants_ were far beyond anything anyone at Niima could barter for - but sometimes she enjoyed lingering in NIima to listen to the news that came in with the Offworlders. The excitement over Tuanul continued, people rumbling about the First Order making its presence known in Jakku for the first time - hoping they had seen enough of the empty sand-dunes pockmarked with destroyed Empire relics to leave the planet for good, leaving them in peace - but BB-8 chirped miserably as he followed her, making the rounds, collecting gossip as she traded for fresh water, cloth and thread. Her trousers were becoming threadbare; she was likely to have an embarrassment at the wrong moment. She had been collecting tech for weeks in order to trade for enough fabric to make a new pair of trousers. Premade garments were prohibitively expensive. Nowhere among the Outpost traders or the Offworlders refreshing themselves at the one bar did BB-8 see any sign of his master.

But Rey heard there had been another explosion in the night. A Kyuzo, one of Constable Zuvio’s men, told her there had been an explosion, but whatever had caused it had been claimed by the Sinking Fields.

The Constable was apparently concerned by the recent Offworlder activity in the area.

Niima Outpost was a precarious ecosystem, Rey knew: The slightest thing could upset it. Unkar Plutt’s steel grip on the Outpost held most of it together. She knew that if things changed with Unkar Plutt, they changed for everyone. And too many people were far too reliant on Unkar Plutt to risk what might come after…uncertainty kept them from doing anything hasty.

Because it could be so much worse.

BB-8 rolled slowly beside her, his head decidedly droopy and miserable, as Rey approached Unkar Plutt. The merchant made a show of inspecting the interlinks, but Rey noticed his attention was on the droid.

“I’ll give you…one portion for them both,” Unkar Plutt rumbled, and Rey sighed internally.

“Last week they were worth a portion _each_. You said you were looking for more.”

“Circumstances change. This one hasn’t even got a membrane.”

“It’s an intact interlift, Unkar. I know you’ve plenty of membranes, I’ve sold plenty of them to you!” Rey said vehemently. She was getting hungry again. Hungry made her irritable.

“I don’t like paying for incomplete equipment,” Unkar rumbled, and Rey arched an eyebrow at this.

“Don’t give me that,” she said sternly, staring him down. “I know you’ve traded a lot more rations for equipment in a lot worse condition than this.” It was just that it was _her_ he was dealing with, not another scavenger. He had never gotten over the fact she had been able to survive out on her own in the desert, in spite of his expectations. “I’ll have my full portion.”

Unkar glowered at her. “You’ll have one and one-half portions, and be grateful.”

Rey hid her surprise as she reached for the rations, tucking them into her satchel. Usually they spent a lot longer going back and forth. To the point where most other scavengers saw her approaching Unkar and nipped into the line before her; they took too long. A second later, the reason for his easy relent made itself clear: “What about the droid?”

Rey blinked, and glanced down at BB-8. He lifted his photoreceptor to her. Her instincts warned her against Unkar’s interest. “What about him?”

“He looks functional,” Unkar said, in a falsely casual tone. “I’ll pay for him.”

A droid with customised paint-job, appearing out of nowhere after Stormtroopers had destroyed Tuanul and eradicated its villagers… Unkar Plutt ran the Outpost, and it wouldn’t surprise Rey if he knew more about the droid than she did.

Curious about just what Unkar might know, she asked, with careful indifference, “How much?”

BB-8 gasped, letting out a tiny squeal of fright.

“Sixty portions,” Plutt said, and Rey had to hide her shock. _Sixty_ portions.

BB-8 emitted a soft, frightened beep. He nudged her fretfully. “The droid’s been helping me, the last few days, he’s very useful; I’d need more than _that_ , Unkar.”

Unkar Plutt was drooling. Rey knew him well enough to know his greed was insatiable: And he was also a nasty, underhanded bully. If he was willing to pay _her_ sixty full portions for the droid…he’d be filling his pockets to cover the expense somehow.

She wondered how much the First Order had offered to pay for information on the droid.

And she realised her mistake, in letting BB-8 accompany her to the Outpost.

Was there a bounty on the droid?

“One hundred portions,” she countered, and the aliens waiting in line whispered and sighed and muttered - wondering if Unkar would have any portions left to trade with them. Or if, as the case would likely be, they would have to attack her later to get them. _Might maketh right_.

BB-8 let out a despairing, terrified little sequence of beeps. She ignored him.

Unkar Plutt stared at her. His greed warred with his instincts to deny her what she wanted, a habit of her lifetime. Oh, yes, he wanted BB-8. Which meant he knew the droid’s worth. He knew he wouldn’t be out of pocket for long by trading precious food rations.

Rey glanced at the mounting pile of rations Unkar was stacking in front of her eyes. Her mouth watered. Her stomach grumbled. And she found herself reaching for the pile of rations. One _hundred_ rations.

Then she remembered herself.

 _You do good things, and good things will come back to you_.

The words of his master, a captive of the First Order. He had given BB-8 a mission to complete.

Whatever it was, it was important, Rey knew it instinctively. People didn’t risk entanglement with the First Order without good reason. And the only people she could think of brave enough to do so…were the Resistance. Which made her think…this little droid, BB-8, with his pilot master whose identity was classified, whose origins were classified… They had something to do with the Resistance, and whatever his master had asked BB-8 to do was worth…being killed if he got caught.

“It’s very tempting, Unkar,” Rey said honestly, “but I’m afraid he’s not for sale. I like the company. And what would I do with all that leisure time? I’d miss our daily chats. Come on, BeeBee-Ate.”

“ _SWEETHEART_!” Plutt bellowed after her, his tone at odds with the endearment she so hated to hear from him. “Don’t be a stubborn fool! Take the deal!”

A confused, enquiring chirp from the droid, and she gathered up her new net and her staff and BB-8 rolled beside her. As soon as they had left the tent, BB-8 let out a string of beeps amounting to several accusations, at least four curses casting aspersions upon her honour, and several reproachful comments on the status of their budding friendship.

“Slow down! I can’t keep up when you stutter like that!” Rey coaxed. “You didn’t think I was actually going to sell you, did you?”

 _One hundred portions translates to an equivalent of a year’s supply of meals, going on your average daily intake_.

“Yes, it does,” Rey sighed mournfully. One _hundred portions_. She adjusted her satchel, with her net, and her utility belt, and tucked her staff over her shoulder, dropping to a knee. “Look, I wasn’t about to sell you, I promise. I just wanted to know how badly Unkar Plutt wanted to get his hands on you.”

 _Very much_.

“Yes,” Rey agreed. “I’m sorry; I’m afraid I made a mistake bringing you here. I think that… I think that perhaps your master has told the First Order about you.”

 _My master wouldn’t_!

“I’m afraid he might. I’ve heard the First Order has…ways of making people tell secrets they’d rather keep,” Rey said grimly, and the droid gasped softly, rolling back, in as visible a display of despair as any droid could exhibit. “And I’m assuming you’re supposed to be kept secret, if you’re supposed to complete his mission. Unkar Plutt wouldn’t have agreed to give me a hundred portions if he didn’t think he’d get something out of the deal to make up for the loss. I think he knows who you are.”

BB-8 rolled on his body, making beeps and moans of distress.

“We’ll figure something out, alright,” Rey said, trying to soothe the droid. She truthfully had become quite fond of him. “I won’t let Unkar Plutt jeopardise your mission. I don’t suppose you could tell me anything that’ll help me to help you do that?”

For a moment, BB-8 remained silent. _Thinking?_ Rey wondered.

 _My master’s name is Poe Dameron_. BB-8 let out a steady stream of blips, beeps and squeals, punctuated with sighs and mournful little quirky noises. _He is a fighter-pilot with the Resistance. Our mission was reconnaissance, to retrieve precious information from Lor San Tekka on behalf of General Organa_.

“General Organa?” Rey breathed, her heart thundering inside her chest. Even _she_ had heard of the princess-turned-Rebel-general, leader of the Rebel Alliance, hero of the New Republic, a quirky, fierce Senator. “You know General Organa?”

 _Of course I do. She despatched Poe to gather the intelligence_.

It struck Rey, then and there…that it was all _real_. The Rebel Alliance - Princess Leia - the Emperor’s destruction at the hands of his Sith apprentice Darth Vader - the crumbling of the Empire. And the heroes who had fought for the freedom of the galaxy. Luke Skywalker, the last Jedi. It was all _real_. The Rebellion…and now the Resistance, fighting a cold war against the resurgent forces of the Empire who had cobbled themselves together in the dark recesses of space and returned, merciless and unyielding, forcing planet after planet into submission, occupying mineral-rich moons and arable planets to strip them of resources and conscript human children into service as Stormtroopers, and alien children to die in work-camps. She had heard that was how the Empire had once recruited; and once again the New Order stripped children from their families and pushed them through a gruelling training regimen five out of ten did not survive.

There were few things in her life Rey was thankful for. Her freedom was topmost on that list.

She couldn’t imagine being stripped from her family, only to be thrust into slavery as a child-soldier. In her mind, that was what it was to be a Stormtrooper, if indeed the rumours of their origins and training were true. She couldn’t imagine anyone would _choose_ that life. But then, what did she know about what the First Order offered its soldiers? What if the alternative was worse? Food, a roof over their heads. Weren’t those the very same things that defined her choices?

BB-8’s photoreceptor flashing in the sunlight as Rey straightened up, and he beeped as two of Plutt’s thugs approached her far too casually. Twin masses of mobile meat swathed in cheap clothing, they towered over her. Usually she did her utmost to avoid any interaction with them.

“Oh, here we go,” she sighed, adjusting her grip on her staff, not quite threatening but wary.

“Plutt wants droid. We take droid. Female don’t interfere.”

Rey sighed. She felt the weight of her satchel on her back, the balance of the staff in her hands, and eyed up the two thugs.

“The droid is mine,” she warned. “I will not sell him. And you will not take him from me.”

“We see, female,” one of the thugs replied. His companion was already pulling a sack over BB-8, who was beeping furiously, flinging open one of his tool-bay disks to shock his attacker.

* * *

If he could have thrown himself into the trough, FN-2187 - newly renamed _Finn_ \- would have. But the happabore didn’t seem up for sharing. The water tasted foul, but it was water, and it was all he was going to get. When he felt like he would start sloshing if he moved too much, Finn gasped for breath and sank down on the sand, leaning back against the raised side of the trough. The happabore nudged him out of the way, but he was too exhausted from the last few hours to acknowledge the beast.

How long had it been since he had lowered his gun at Tuanul?

He didn’t know how long it had taken him to walk from the crash-site of the _TIE Silencer_ to this pathetic excuse for a marketing town, only that his entire body felt like it was on fire, his skin burned badly, his head pounding, vision swimming. His body ached from the impact of the crash, his legs shaking from the exertion of crossing the unfamiliar terrain. What was it about sand that made it so impossible to walk through?

Panting, he rested, eyeing the nearby tents for the blessed shade they offered, torn between hauling himself into the shade and remaining by the trough, where the lapping of the water soothed his nerves, somehow. It had been all he had been searching for, _water_ , in this desolate place. Water, then people. A way off this sandy hell.

For a moment, he grimaced, pushing sweat out of his eyes, wondering if perhaps he had made a huge mistake in freeing Poe.

It hadn’t done either of them any good. Poe, vibrant, enthusiastic - cocky - and good-humoured, who had given him his first _name_ , was dead. And Finn - FN-2187 had died in their bid for freedom - well…he was stuck in a place worse than death.

 _Jakku_. Junkyard of the Western Reaches.

Panting, Finn sat up, his head starting to clear, and blinking the sweat and sun out of his eyes, his breath hitched as he heard a feminine scream. It was a scream of rage, but a scream nonetheless, and he gaped, watching, shielding his eyes from the sun, as a petite girl with glossy dark hair danced across the sand, her movements swift and graceful as a dancer, lethal as a sidewinder snake, and powerful. She was tiny, compared to the two thugs who had accosted her - Finn rose to his feet, determined to intervene, but he slowed, realising…no-one else was rushing to her aid…and she didn’t _need_ any.

The way she wielded the staff in her hands was mesmerising. No Stormtrooper was ever trained to fight the way she obviously had been, her movements sure, swift, decisive, and intended to create maximum damage through minimal effort on her part. She went for the tender spots, weaknesses he could assess through his own training.

In moments, she had her assailants flat on their backs, unconscious in the sand, and Finn gaped, gripping a structural post, still panting from his long trek and accidental almost-self-drowning at the trough, but something more - awe and wonder made him stare, delight prickling in the back of his mind where the numbness of shock was starting to wear off. It amused him to see this unassuming girl felling the two hulking brutes.

She stabbed her staff into the sand, and the rest of the people milling around ignored her, and the unconscious thugs, as he approached a beeping, moving sack, impressed by the girl but still wanting to lend a hand.

Perhaps it was the crash, or dehydration, but Finn was sure he was seeing things as he removed the sack. _A BB-unit. Orange-and-white. One-of-a-kind. Utterly unique and utterly invaluable_ , Poe’s voice reverberated through his mind. _My droid’s got a map that leads to Luke Skywalker_.

Poe’s last words.

Poe’s droid.

The droid shook itself, and the girl spoke to it reassuringly. It turned its head, and saw Finn. And then it began to beep like someone had pulled its rationality chip. It occurred to Finn then that the droid hadn’t been nearly as distressed while being kidnapped as it now displayed, rocking on its globular body, beeping furiously.

But nothing was as unnerving as the look that came over the girl’s pretty face. And she _was_ pretty, Finn noticed that instantly, very pretty, with sharp cheekbones, pretty lips, a dainty nose, a constellation of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and long, fine, sweeping eyelashes.

It was astonishing how such a beautiful girl could resemble a rathtar in her rage.

He gulped, instinctual dread settling over him, realising he knelt not three feet from the last male she had knocked unconscious.

Whatever the droid was beeping, she understood it: Finn didn’t.

“Hey, what’s wrong? I just came over to help! Not that you needed it,” he said, gesturing at the two males.

The girl tilted her head to the side, and the movement struck Finn as innately predatory. Two things happened.

She raised her staff. Finn dodged. And then he ran, trying to find a path through the marketplace, wondering what the droid had told her to set her off. He had no desire to find himself at the wrong end of her staff.

And that’s exactly where he found himself, a hit to the face that came out of nowhere and sent him sprawling on his back, thoroughly winded against the sand he despised so much, nose bloodied, the girl looming over him, suddenly tall and fearsome as a Wookie, and it didn’t occur to Finn that he had been trained for this - that sweeping her legs from under her with a well-practiced kick would be easy, she was so little.

But he was exhausted, dehydrated, suffering from the impact of the crash, and of his own desperation - _he didn’t know what to do_.

“What is your hurry, thief?” Her voice was soft, rich, with a lilting sultriness that was understated and intoxicating, as if she was purring to lull her prey. It was utterly unconscious, Finn believed: There was nothing in this ferocious girl that had been _refined_. If her voice was attractive, she didn’t know it.

“ _What_?” he gasped, trying to suck breath into his lungs. The little droid had rolled up alongside him, extended a telescoping arm, and transmitted a sizeable electric shock, powerful enough to sit Finn bolt upright.

“Ow!” he yelped, and the droid rolled threateningly beside him, telescoping arm extended, whirring with aggression.

“The jacket,” the girl said, in her deep, rich voice. “My friend here says you stole it.”

Disoriented, winded, dehydrated, suffering from the collision, Finn still, blessedly, had the capacity to string a few sentences together. And they kept him from remaining on the business end of the girl’s staff.

“Listen, I don’t want to fight with you. I’ve already had a pretty messed-up day. So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t accuse me of being a thi- _ow_!” The droid zapped him again: The girl raised one shapely eyebrow, and the simple shift in her expression made her seem ten times cooler and meaner than when she had bared her teeth and taken on the resemblance of a rampaging rathtar. She wasn’t going to do a damn thing to stop the droid electrocuting Finn, he knew. “ _Stop it_!”

“He says you stole the jacket from his master,” said the girl, her rich voice cool with something close to cruelty. He blinked up at her, and at the droid, realising two things. The girl was loyal to the droid.

And the droid was Poe’s.

They both deserved an explanation. The droid rolled agitatedly, beeping, and the girl narrowed her eyes, adjusting her grip on her staff.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Finn said, throwing his hands up defensively. “Look…” He groaned, catching the attention of the droid’s photoreceptor. “It belonged to Poe Dameron. That was his name right?” The little droid glanced from him to the girl and back. “He was captured by the First Order.”

“Yes, we know that,” said the girl, still holding her staff menacingly. He reached up, startled by the blood trickling over his lips.

“But I helped him escape,” Finn asserted. “We were trying to get back to Jakku to pick up Poe’s droid, but we were hit. We crashed…” He glanced at the droid. “Poe didn’t make it.” For a second, the droid didn’t react; then its head drooped, and it emitted a mournful sigh. “Look, I tried to help him. I’m sorry.”

The little droid tucked his telescoping arm into his body, and trundled away, his head bowed, whirring despondently.

Finn sighed, and, determining that the girl, with one end of her staff resting on the sand, posed no immediate threat to him anymore, clambered off the sand.

* * *

“So…” Her dark hazel eyes turned shrewd, assessing, as she took in his jacket, his neatly-shorn hair, the regulation-issue underclothes all Stormtroopers wore beneath their armour. “You’re with the Resistance?”

“Obviously,” the boy said enthusiastically, dusting the sand off the sleeves of his purloined jacket. He had dark skin and a handsome face, straight white teeth shining in the shade of the tent. Lowering his voice, he said urgently, “I’m with the Resistance.”

Rey’s lips twitched toward a smirk of wry disbelief. “I’ve never met a Resistance fighter before. At least…not one silly enough to declare their allegiance so loudly in such a public place.” She fixed the tall boy - and he couldn’t be much older than her, well-built, healthy - with a sceptical look, quirking one eyebrow. His expression faltered under her quelling gaze; but then, he’d seemed agitated and uncertain to begin with.

“Well, you’re friends with the droid,” he said, gesturing vaguely in BB-8’s direction, his eyes on her face. “Figured you’re a sympathiser.”

“Oh, I never get involved in politics,” Rey assured him. Her world was far too small to consider something as enormous as _intergalactic politics_. “But since you’re here, I suppose you can help me get BB-8 off Jakku without the First Order intercepting him. He says his master - Poe Dameron? - gave him a mission he has to complete.”

“Apparently he has a map to Luke Skywalker, and everyone’s after it,” said the boy, with a frustrated sigh. Rey blinked, and turned to him.

“ _Luke Skywalker_?” she half-whispered, awed. He wasn’t her favourite, of course, but even she could appreciate the last Jedi’s importance in the Rebellion. “But he’s a myth.”

BB-8 rolled into view, blasting beeps and warnings, and Rey frowned, deciphering through the deluge of Binary one thing: _Stormtroopers are here_.

And they were talking to her friends, Unkar Plutt’s thugs.

“Should’ve hit them harder,” she sighed regretfully, as the two armoured Stormtroopers turned toward them, raising their blasters determinedly. Something grabbed her hand, and Rey glanced around. The boy’s dark eyes were locked on the Stormtroopers, and before she knew it he was pulling her away, into the maze of tents, BB-8 zooming at her heels as the boy called to him. Blasts landed, exploding goods, sending up explosions of sand, causing chaos, and through it all, they ran - Rey ducked her head, trying to make herself a smaller target, but - “Let go of my hand! _You’re going the wrong way_! BB-8, keep up!” Digging her heels into the sand, she resisted the boy’s tugging, pulling him in the opposite direction - she knew this warren of stalls and tents like the back of her hand. A Stormtrooper not armed with a flamethrower would be shooting blind through the tarpaulins, but Rey, oh, she knew her way around and out of the market. They ducked into a tent littered with salvage.

“They were shooting at _both_ of us!” she gasped, palms sweating as she gripped her staff. She had been shot at before, of course - never by a _Stormtrooper_. Luckily their aim was atrocious.

“Yeah! You’re with the droid. They want it,” the boy panted, rummaging around. “Does _nobody_ have a blaster in this sand-trap?”

“BB-8, are you alright? They didn’t land any shots, did they?” Rey asked, kneeling down to quickly assess the droid. The boy hushed BB-8 as he beeped in response, agitated, and Rey turned, frowning, then realised…in the absence of BB-8’s binary, she could hear them.

 _TIE Fighters_.

That the First Order would despatch two _TIE Starfighters_ to eradicate a single little BB droid suggested to Rey, in that heartbeat, that she was utterly out of her depth.

That, or, it was the boy they were targeting. Somehow she couldn’t imagine it.

“You’ve got to be _joking_ ,” she said grimly, and growled in irritation as the boy grabbed her hand. “ _Stop - taking - my - hand_!” She snatched her hand free, BB-8 beeping in panic beside her as she ran out of the tent - seconds before a _TIE Starfighter_ blew it up, the explosion knocking her off her feet, her hands shaking, her head spinning, her ears ringing. She blinked dazedly as the cloud of sand and smoke settled, and assessed herself: No injuries. None that she could feel yet, anyway. She heard the roar of the _TIE_ _Starfighters_ , circling around for another shot, and noticed the boy, sprawled on his back. She scurried over to him, shaking his shoulder roughly, BB-8 rolling up by his head.

Gasping, he jolted upright. “Are you okay?”

She blinked, startled that he asked _her_ that, when he was the one lying bleeding in the sand. Admittedly _she_ had caused the bleeding. And it was also the first time in her life anyone had ever asked her that. “Yeah. You? The important bits still attached? Good. Come with me. We’ll never be able to outrun them across the desert. There’s only one way to get out of here if we want to get BB-8 back to the Resistance.”

“How?!” the boy asked, panting, as she helped pull him off the ground.

“There’s a quadjumper! Just - follow me. Keep running - don’t look back,” Rey said, already running, tucking her staff over her shoulder as she went, BB-8 keeping pace with ease, even as he beeped in dread and agitation. The boy ran behind her, as they dodged through the disarray Niima Outpost had been reduced to.

“That’s an awful lot of firepower for one little droid!”

“The First Order doesn’t take chances!” the boy yelled. “They’ll level the Outpost to make sure the droid never makes it back to the Resistance.”

“Sod that!” Rey yelled, scowling, and, in the bravest and most foolish moment of her life, risked the open ground, BB-8 at her side, to run across the landing-pad toward the quadjumper.

“We don’t have a pilot!” he yelled frantically.

“We’ll make do!” Rey shouted back. She was no properly trained Resistance pilot, it was true, but she had flown dozens of crafts before, and she knew more about engines than most pilots who relied on their astromechs.

Besides - what other choice did they have?

“What about _that_ ship?” the boy yelled, gesturing wildly as they skirted another vessel.

“It’s a pile of junk!” Rey yelled, barely glancing to her right, at the freighter draped in tarpaulins. A heartbeat later, the ground beneath them quaked as an explosion rumbled, fire and shrapnel shooting into the sky where once the quadjumper had stood. The _TIE Starfighter_ screamed overhead, and just as suddenly as the explosion happened, Rey changed direction, so quickly the boy and BB-8 lost her for precious seconds. “Junk it is!”

The loading ramp was down. The freighter hadn’t moved in years, not since the last time Rey herself had flown it. There had been a slight argument between herself and Unkar Plutt regarding his _improvements_ to the freighter - and it was those improvements Rey now found herself thinking of, frantically, as the only things between her and certain death by _TIE Starfighter_ blasters.

Unkar Plutt. He’d held her fate in his hands ever since she found herself in this godsforsaken sandpit. And now, when she had never had more need for this ship to work, it was his ill-advised tinkering that might prove the death of her.

 _That bastard_ , she thought, careening up the loading ramp, hitting a wall panel before her companions were safely on-board. It didn’t matter that the ramp rose and the lock sealed: If the _Starfighters’_ pilots thought they were on-board, they would blow the entire freighter to smithereens.

“Gunner’s position is down there!” she shouted, gesturing to a ladder descending into the bowels of the ship,

“On it!” the boy yelled, flinging himself down the chute.

“BB-8, you find somewhere to tuck yourself!” Rey called, as he chirped and beeped anxiously. She hurtled through the passages to the cockpit. Her heart in her mouth, fingers trembling, ears ringing, drenched in sweat that had little to do with physical exertion and everything to do with being _hunted_ , Rey flung herself into the pilot’s seat, silencing a groan that she was bereft a co-pilot.

“You ever fly this thing? Or anything like it?”

“I’ve flown her before, but that was years ago!” she shouted back.

“What makes you think you’ll get it off the ground?”

“Because the alternative is too terrifying!” Rey shouted, buckling herself in, ignoring the discomfort of her staff and satchel strapped across her back. To herself, she muttered, “I’ve got this. I’ve got this!”

She had flown dozens of different craft, but hadn’t flown this old pile of junk in years, since Unkar Plutt had installed the fuel-pump. Fuel-pump! Precious seconds needed to prime, seconds they didn’t have! Through the grimy, dusty windows of the cockpit, she could see the havoc being rained down on Niima Outpost, and if she wasn’t in such a hurry, so focused on running through the standard pre-lift sequence, remembering all Unkar Plutt’s many, unnecessary _improvements_ that would hinder their escape, she might have stopped to gape at the sheer destruction, fires blazing everywhere, happabores rampaging, destroying what the _TIE Starfighters_ missed, people fleeing in all directions. Her preparations were hurried.

And she knew one of three things would happen as she reached for the control that would get them out of here: They would lift off, the ship would blow up, or nothing at all would happen.

_Breathe…_

The voice trickled through her mind, coaxing her, gentle and calm… She paused, just long enough to concentrate, and savour the sensation of oxygen filling her lungs.

A soft, young voice murmured to her, gently and coaxingly, clearer than the voice echoing in her head, “Concentrate on the moment. Feel, don't think. Trust your instincts.”

She opened her eyes, expelling a shaky breath, and a glimmer of pale-blue shimmered to her left, a handsome, robed male with lustrous wavy hair smiling benignly in the co-pilot’s seat.

“I’ve got this,” she muttered, more to herself than the Force ghost beside her. “I’ve got this.”

She punched the control, and a grin broke across her face as long quiescent engines flared to brilliant life at the stern of the old ship. “Good girl!!” Fully powered up now, the ship soared into the bright blue sky of Jakku - shedding tarps as it rose, it spun and careened wildly, nearly crashing - grappling with unfamiliar controls, she wrestled with them, and just managed to level out the old beast in time to crash through and the Outpost’s entry archway - the sole example of architectural pride.

Rey snorted, biting her lip on a laugh that gurgled up, in spite of her nerves, in spite of the echoing explosions, and let the giggle of glee rip free as she spotted Unkar Plutt emerging from a collapsed structure, his massive folds of flesh rippling ominously as he raised meaty arms to the sky, shaking them and bellowing.

She couldn’t believe she was doing this! _Stealing_ Unkar Plutt’s ship! _Leaving_ Jakku!

The manual control was very responsive: And, having gotten her off the ground - the first mammoth task, and the most important one - Rey settled into her seat, and chanced a sideways look at her shimmering co-pilot, who sat with a bland smile on his face, slender fingers clasped in his lap. Enjoying himself.

She spun the ship around and accelerated, blasting away from the port, leaving the destruction of Niima Outpost as a smouldering blip on the horizon. The two _TIE Starfighters_ followed.

Rey headed skyward, thrilled by the ship’s increasing power as they soared away from the surface.

“ _Stay low!_ ” the boy bellowed from below, where he was grappling with the weapons system. “It confuses their tracking!”

“Okay! You better buckle in. We’ve got two _Starfighters_ on our tail. Can you please start shooting?!”

“Are the shields up?”

“Doing my best!” With a grunt, she shifted her position to free her staff, reaching back with one hand to grasp it, keeping a firm handle on the controls, and, swooping and swerving to avoid the blasts of the _Starfighters_ in pursuit, locked on her screens, she used the end of her staff, jamming it through Anakin’s blithely-smiling, intangible head, to press the button to engage their shields.

Had she ever done anything like this before, it might have been second-nature to her to wield her gifts to help her: As it was, adrenaline was rushing through her brain and she was going on pure instinct. The _finesse_ of the Force was not something she had the privilege of perfecting at the present moment!

BB-8 was rolling wildly around the corridors as the freighter looped and swerved at breakneck speed, beeping shrilly in alarm and telling her he understood the causes of nausea and was grateful not to suffer it as she pulled off a hairpin turn to avoid collision with a downed _Destroyer_.

The weapons system came to life, and briefly, Rey smiled at the sound of the boy’s whoops of delight as he finally blasted back in retaliation. Another detonation rocked the ship - the shields were unexpectedly robust, and Rey checked the console, scanning it briefly, her hands clamped on the controls, without even realising it, perched at the edge of the pilot’s seat, feet firmly planted, digging into the floor for traction, bracing herself.

“We need cover!”

“We’re about to get some!” Rey shouted, grimacing guiltily, as they whipped and wheeled through the sky, skimming the surface by inches in places, as she got used to the controls, and the _speed_ , and the size of the freighter. It was a long time since Rey had flown her; she had become accustomed to her small twin-engine speeder. The wobble threw off the _Starfighters’_ predictors, which was good. At least, that’s what she told herself. It was easier than admitting that flying this beast was utterly daunting. Especially with trained First Order fighter-pilots on their tail. This was beyond the realms of her experience.

Still…she knew this terrain better than they ever could, and keeping low as the boy had advised determined how the _TIE Starfighters_ could carry out their attacks - they could only pursue, or risk power and speed to gain altitude for an attack from above.

She knew better than anyone how to defend herself on the desiccated surface of Jakku, at least in the vicinity of Niima Outpost, where she was intimately familiar with every dune field, every canyon complex, every crater, escarpment and downed Empire warship.

Her hand shook as she reached for the comms headset, tucking it on. The boy was wearing the gunner’s headset already. “If you’re the praying type, you might want to shout one out to your gods!”

“What?! Why?!” the boy yelped, and Rey grimaced and braced herself, exhaling, banking hard, low enough to cut a crease in the sand, heading for her favourite place, a place she knew better than her own home. The Graveyard.

Half-wild, a burst from the craft’s guns crossed the flight path of one of the tailing _TIE_ _Starfighters_ , catching it where its shields were temporarily powerless - it was enough, part of the craft crumpled instantly, causing it to trail wreckage as its pilot strained to keep it airborne. As she sent the hulking freighter slaloming through an endless field of derelict spacecraft and industrial waste, the damaged _TIE Starfighter_ slammed into one of the metal mountains and came apart in a brief, fiery explosion.

One out of two. Not bad.

Their odds were increasing.

The colossal debris field was all Rey had prayed they might reach before they were blown to hell; she knew it, how to fly around it, what she could use to her advantage. The _TIE Starfighter_ pilot didn’t. And as aggressive and advanced as its weapons system and as trained as its pilot was, there was nothing like Rey, when she was focused and unimpressed.

Not when she was having this much _fun_.

Somewhere along the way, nerves had given way to excitement. Apprehension, to delight.

This was, of course, the most exciting thing to ever happen to her in her entire _life_.

The most challenging, and the most exhilarating.

She found her lips twitching at the corners as she gained confidence - she knew what she was doing, and if they wanted to pick a dogfight with a Jakku scavenger on her own patch, well, more fool them!

Another blast; a curse through the comms system. They had taken a hit; and if the boy was right, their weapons turret had been jammed facing forward. He couldn’t rotate it; they had no way of repairing it. Alarms started pealing through the ship, alerting them to the fact that more than just the gunner’s position had sustained damage.

Rey was surprised the old girl was still in one piece, and flight-worthy: Anything else they gained was an unexpected bonus.

“Guns are stuck in forward position!” he yelled into the comms system. “You’ve gotta shake our pursuit!”

“I’m working on it!” she told him.

“ _Are we really doing this_?!” he screeched back, and she winced, her ears sensitive from the bomb-blasts at Niima.

She braced herself - and she heard the boy swearing in panicked disbelief as she guided the hulking freighter into a gaping breach that was the centre of a ruined engine thruster of a downed _Super Star Destroyer_ , its mass inconceivably large where it rested in the sand - huge enough the clumsy old freighter slipped through, dwarfed.

Sparks flared as Rey navigated one narrowing passage after another, the boy yelping with dread, BB-8 flung everywhere but exactly where he wanted to be as she spun and swooped and banked so sharply, her stomach protested. She knew these passages, having spent years exploring them intimately.

“Hold onto your ass,” she yelled, hand shaking as she reached for several levers and controls. The timing had to be perfect. If the boy wasn’t ready, the manoeuvre wasn’t going to matter: But they wouldn’t live long enough to regret it. “And get ready!”

“Get ready for what?!” the boy yelled. She had to rely on his instincts, as much as he had trusted hers thus far.

A blast from the _TIE Starfighter_ almost sent their craft crashing into the service-corridor’s ceiling, corrected hastily: They flew toward a seam of unbroken light, and she maintained a rigid manual control, ignoring the readouts. All that mattered was that they were airborne; and the controls responded to her.

She banked, hard, to the right, ejecting themselves from the decaying guts of the _Destroyer_.

Rey cut the power.

She exhaled slowly, swinging the ship completely around.

Her gunner retained his wits. The _TIE Starfighter_ was directly in his sights, perfectly locked in range. And he reacted instantly. The _Starfighter_ pilot missed: The boy didn’t.

As the _TIE Starfighter_ burst into flames, lost speed and altitude, and ultimately crashed to the surface in a small ball of fire and debris, Rey turned the ship away, hard, from the _Destroyer_ , and sent the ship accelerating into the clouds. Jubilation spread through her, breathless and overwhelmed with energy and something close to ecstasy as she had ever experienced. Her hands gripped the controls tightly, her knuckles white, and she realised belatedly that her entire body was shuddering with adrenaline, covered with sweat.

But she couldn’t help do anything except _laugh_ as the clouds fell behind, and the sun-blasted surface of Jakku gave way to the cold, oddly comforting blackness of space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so excited to write Reylo’s first meeting. And Rey meeting Maz. Even though she’s an alien, I find Maz so much more human than all the Jedi masters we’ve known, in how she understands and respects the Force - without pushing the rigid Jedi laws of behaviour etc. that caused the destruction of the Jedi Order.


	4. A Living Legend

**I Am Yours, You Are Mine**

_04_

_A Living Legend_

* * *

It hit him with a swiftness that shocked the breath from his lungs, rapturously unfurling from the pit of his stomach to the tips of his fingers, a heady, rich awareness of his own body that had him biting back a groan, of longing, of… _euphoria_ …as the echoes of _ecstasy_ raced through him, infusing every single midi-chlorian in his body with sparkling light that tingled and danced through his mind, flirting with the darkness, easing the unbearable weight of doubt, soothing the aching _yearning_ , coaxing the devastating loneliness, intoxicating and entrancing…

His eyes slid closed, lost in the blissful sensation, the exquisite joy, the sense of…belonging, of _completeness_ …of something far greater than himself and yet, so intimate, something that was _his_ utterly.

The familiar yet alien dread in the pit of his stomach - what had _he_ to dread in that moment, gazing down upon the barren beige wastelands of Jakku? - and an excitement and palpable tension made his heart race and his hands shake, chased by a clear, focused determination that, bewildered as he was by the alien emotions warring with and blessedly overwhelming his own, even he could admire - until grinding anxiety and panic had given way to something…exquisite, amused, _content_ …rapturous, it felt… _right_ …

And the agonising _ecstasy_ that followed made his knees buckle.

He felt it, then, struck as if by the force of a bowcaster, shuddering through his body, a lost sensation, triggering painful memories long buried - it started in the pit of his stomach and spread through him, glorious and golden, _light_ \- it was…joy. It was… _laughter_.

Laughter so rich it made his stomach hurt, filled his body with long-forgotten sensations - a lightness in his limbs, a twitching ache at the corners of his mouth, a breathlessness and a sense of awe and wonder that overwhelmed his surroundings, and for a second, he heard it…

 _Laughter_.

Feminine laughter, so rich, from such a deep place, it reverberated through his body, infectious and dazzling, heady.

He gave himself over to it - to her laugh. Luxuriating in the sound of it, the richness, the _passion_ , the _light_ … Giving himself over entirely, luxuriating…in _her_.

He had _felt_ her, three nights ago, nothing more than a sigh across the sands, a shimmer of effervescent golden light in the darkness and destruction of Tuanul, a…a _call_ , coaxing and gentle, _good_ …and _right_.

Calling him… _home_.

That intangible, unbreakable thread of golden light, sparkling in the barren desert of Jakku, had been all that kept him from crumpling to his knees as the weight of Lor San Tekka’s murder lanced through his heart. It had been aching ever since, a wound that refused to scar.

She called him home.

And every muscle in his body, every bone, every midi-chlorian, had cried out, groaning and weeping against his resistance to the call. Resistance to _her_.

He resisted the urge to turn away from Tuanul and stride out into the sands, something deep within the unknowable recesses of his subconscious tether with the Force calling him…coaxing him away from the destruction, whispering to abandon all he had worked for this last decade…and _find_ _her_.

The presence he recalled from his adolescence, the soft golden shimmering in the very back of his mind, the very last glimmer illuminating the shrivelled, pockmarked, scarred remnants of his aching, bruised heart - _her_.

He hadn’t consciously thought of her in years.

Not since -

The temple…in flames - bodies strewn everywhere…dead children. His dead _friends_. And in the midst of it all, _her_. Nothing but a blur of sand-sashes and unbound dark hair whipped in a wind that did not belong to the blaze all around her - horrified, heart in his mouth, he had run into the blaze, hand extended to reach her, drawing on the Force, trying to temper the blaze as one of his friends stirred, eyes glinting in the fires, the flames abating just long enough for him to hear their frail cry of undiluted agony, feel it imprint itself onto his very self, his very _soul_ , as flames devoured her limbs, her melting eyes leaking over charred cheeks like tears - his friend’s monstrous face disappeared beneath the deluge of stone as the wall collapsed upon her, and he felt it, the Force snuffed out where once it had thrived, leaving him with nothing but nightmares, her face imprinted on every surface he looked at, burned against his eyelids every time he closed his eyes, for years.

He had taken his eyes off the little girl. She stood in the heart of the flames, her face obscured as his blinked smoke and sweat out of his eyes, choking on the smoke, flames licking at his robes, hand shaking as he clutched his lightsaber, and he reached for her - her blurry face shone with tears, twisted with terror, gaping in horror at the crumbled wall, and the girl burned and buried beneath it.

He had felt a ripple through the Force, a soft whimper, and that longing, the feeling of connection, his devastating desire to reach her, quietened, gentling…until he couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t see her. Could no longer feel her presence.

Her tearstained face, features obscured by smoke, was what he remembered most.

And the feeling that…she would be forever out of his reach.

He hadn’t thought about her, really _thought_ about it, the absurd connection, the little girl in the sand, until that night in Tuanul, when he had heard the murmur, the whisper, a _promise_ …

Perhaps it was because of _her_ that he had felt it. An awakening.

One among the many faceless Stormtroopers.

The Force was in all things, and all things therefore had the potential to access and manipulate it. The Force would continue to exist long after the last Jedi ceased to roam the galaxy, whether or not anyone remembered it to learn how to harness it.

But to witness an awakening…

It was because he had been so in tune to the Force in that moment, because of _her_ \- and the tempting knowledge of her proximity - that he had felt it.

Just a flicker.

A pilot-light, nothing more. And yet it was enough. That tiny flicker of light had caught, seized upon, no longer ignored; it spread, consuming the young male. Numb shock and horror had given way to a soul-deep nausea and then, finally, to a quiet, dangerous resolve.

He remembered those feelings. That struggle.

And yet the Stormtrooper, who had never known any identity but the code given to him upon his being claimed by the First Order, had chosen, not to engage his weapon and follow his superior’s orders…but to lower his blaster. Refusing to pull the trigger.

The _Light_ had called to him: FN-2187 had answered.

Kylo Ren had witnessed it.

And he had proven a thorn in the First Order’s side ever since.

Too startled by the presence of the girl - nearer than the boy he had once been might ever have imagined he would ever get, and yet, so far from where he now could take himself - he had simply watched as the Stormtrooper lowered his weapon, panting in the aftermath of the massacre.

The Stormtroopers were not his men - neither to train, nor to punish: He left such things to the officers. He was Supreme Leader Snoke’s apprentice, his natural successor - Kylo Ren did not concern himself with fodder.

He had his own concerns, his own orders: He was to snuff out the last Jedi.

It was to that end he had found himself observing the plant of Jakku…her home… Where the Empire had been publically struck down, the same year as his birth, he had discovered her. A wielder of the Force.

And another had been awakened to it, on the very same night he heard her siren call through a bond he could not explain, had thought to be dormant all this time. And yet, he knew in the pit of his soul…she had been there all along. Every flicker of Light…had been _her_ all this time.

The Resistance would get mighty satisfaction, he reflected, on the fact that one of the First Order’s own soldiers, trained and indoctrinated since infancy, had rejected his programming. Had answered the _Light_.

To refuse orders was one thing.

To actively seek out and free a prized prisoner, steal a _TIE Fighter_ from a hangar and make a bid for freedom to relay information crucial to the Resistance…

It was perhaps petty of him, but he could not stand the self-aggrandising, soulless, ambitious General Hux - whom he knew was one of his most dangerous adversaries, and thus, he made sure always to keep his guard up around him.

Kylo Ren would enjoy watching the General accumulate all such accolades and special privileges that went along with such leadership as inspired _treason_ in the ranks.

His lips _might_ have twitched beneath his mask. The residual euphoria from the girl now unsettled him, focusing on the dull yellowish sphere of Jakku through the external observation portal on the _Finalizer_ , his view uninterrupted. But as the emotion faded, he frowned, startled and unsettled by the sensation - the _bond_ , the…intimacy - and consciously fought to reject it, refocusing, fighting back the alien feelings _she_ had plagued him with.

Feelings that left a throbbing ache in the pit of his heart.

He gave himself a tiny shake, less than a twitch to any foolish observer, and clenched his fists. The droid.

He was beginning to lose patience. Knew he should have returned to the planet to secure the droid himself: He already knew Hux’s men were treasonous. They were also proving themselves to be incompetent. And he could not abide incompetence - though he was forced to abide _Hux_.

It was the unfortunate Lieutenant Mitaka who delivered the report, and his dread was palpable as he approached the masked, cloaked figure of Kylo Ren. He did not look forward to delivering bad news: It was his responsibility, and one he had performed several times before to different superior officers. However, Kylo Ren was different. Not a superior officer, but something else - something more powerful, more dangerous - _unpredictable_.

His gaze flickered uneasily to the lightsaber holstered at Kylo Ren’s waist.

Mitaka, Kylo Ren sensed, would rather have been anywhere in the known galaxy than alone in the same room with him.

“Have you come to marvel at the view, Lieutenant?” he asked softly, and heard the small young man gulp. He raised a hand, and felt the officer’s flinch - expecting him to strike out, utilising the Force as a weapon as he had countless times before to demonstrate his… _displeasure_. He indicated the exquisite, intoxicating array of light and energy unfurling before their eyes. “So much beauty among so much turmoil… You’ve more turmoil to report, I think.”

“The squadron was unable to acquire the BB-8 droid on Jakku, sir,” said the Lieutenant, holding his breath. “Even with the _TIE Starfighters_ in pursuit.”

The little man winced as Kylo Ren turned away from the observation windows.

“Do not tell me, Lieutenant, that the droid was destroyed,” Kylo said silkily. It was the only lead he’d had on Skywalker’s whereabouts since his disappearance shortly after he had fled, seeking a new master…

“No, sir, it was not destroyed, at least as far as we have been able to ascertain,” gulped Lieutenant Mitika.

“No aerial survey results?”

“We lost communications with the _Starfighters_ several moments ago, sir,” the Lieutenant demurred. “However, our ground-troops report that the droid seems to have escaped in a stolen _Corellian_ freighter, a YT model. Old, but, in capable hands, a worthy craft.”

Ren blinked behind his mask: Mitaka couldn’t see his astonishment. “The _droid_ …stole a _freighter_?”

“Not exactly, sir. According to preliminary reports, the droid appears to have had help,” Mitaka said. He was starting to sweat. “Our troopers had brief glimpses, sir…they’ve confirmed that FN-2187 _survived_ \- “

Mitaka flinched as Kylo Ren reached for his lightsaber. The angry, volatile red saber of pure light hissed and spat, vicious and unstable, one long shaft of fiery light and two shorter projections at the hilt washing the room with crimson.

Mitaka expected swift deliverance.

He jumped, as Kylo Ren roared, and lashed out, slashing at the console nearby, at the walls, the deck - rending and ripping, slashing and cutting, reducing the room to groaning heaps of metal jagged open like blistering wounds. His rage was terrible to witness: Mitaka didn’t dare move, draw attention to himself, lest that spitting, fiery weapon turn itself on him.

Just as suddenly, the vicious blade of the lightsaber disappeared, the room seeming to wheeze out a breath, hissing softly as bleeding metal cooled, acrid smoke unfurling, the lights of the consoles dead, screens shattered, and Mitaka winced as Kylo Ren turned to face him, unnerved by the mask, its slitted forehead reflecting the light, the thick, snoutlike breathing apparatus betraying nothing of the man beneath…nothing to telegraph emotion or intent. The huge man’s broad shoulders heaved, his broad body beneath the expensive, slim-fitting black clothing coiled with rage, with tension, but what made Mitaka shiver was the eerily calm voice that asked, “Anything else?”

The worst of the report had been delivered. He had assumed.

“They appear to have been helped by a local. A girl.”

That black mask with its impenetrable lens turned sharply to Mitaka as a leather-gloved hand thrust toward him - the startled lieutenant found himself drawn violently toward Kylo Ren by an invisible force - _the_ Force - his polished boots skidding across the floor, until he was being held six feet off the floor by his throat. That metallic visage was now closer than Mitaka had ever been to it - closer than he had ever wished to be.

Panting, seething, Kylo Ren let the lieutenant dangle haplessly for a few seconds, reining in the destructive rage that had just rendered an entire wall of technology into metallic ribbons.

If - but it couldn’t be…and yet he knew, the elation he had felt only moments ago, stronger than he had felt anything in years, may have been the post-battle euphoria of someone who had evaded what they believed would be certain death… Someone out-flying _TIE Starfighters_ , perhaps.

His girl - _the_ girl - had…been the one to aid and abet the fugitive Resistance droid.

Kylo Ren’s voice was more menacing than anything the lieutenant had ever heard, as he demanded, “ _What - girl_?”

The little girl in the sand, shrouded in sand-sashes, oversize goggles obscuring her face as she tilted her head up at him, tiny fists balled, sunburned and defiant…

Crying amid the flames of a burning temple, her dark hair whipping about her tearstained face…

Whispering across the sand-dunes, coaxing him through the dark, effervescent and intoxicating…

 _Her_.

He would learn all there was to know about this _girl_ who had allied herself with a Resistance droid and a Stormtrooper deserter.

It was purely strategic. Necessary.

Essential to the search for the droid, for Skywalker’s location.

Nothing at all to do with satisfying his own curiosity, his own…desire…his regret, consciously choosing to ignore the lull that had coaxed him across the sand only days ago…calling him _home_ …

A means to an end. The end of the Jedi.

Nothing at all to do with his sudden, undeniable yearning to…to see her face. After all this time.

Then, she’d been a little girl, with shredded knees and untidy braids and tiny little fingers covered in cuts and burns.

 _Now_ …

He’d never seen her face.

But he remembered the colour of her hair, like sun-streaked molasses, and the braids - braids that had reminded him so desperately of his _mother_ …

He flung Mitaka from him, startled by the feeling that stole over him, unbidden - regret, and longing, a soul-deep _grief_ he wanted to destroy, gnawing at him from the inside out… The sudden reminder of…of _her_ , of his mother…

He strode through the corridors of the _Destroyer_ , cloak billowing around him, mask shining malevolently as he ordered mechanics to ready his sleek, intimidating, utterly unique _TIE Whisper_. He would see to this himself. Gather information on the girl _himself_ , as only he could…

His mission to destroy the last Jedi depended upon it.

That was what he told himself.

He almost believed it.

* * *

It had started in the pit of her stomach, the laugh, reverberating out until her fingertips loosened from the controls with the strength of the heaves of her body, wiping tears from her eyes.

Beside her, her ghostly co-pilot’s lips twitched to a true smile, revealing even teeth, a handsome grin. He reached out, intangible, and yet flipped several switches and levers, pressing one last button.

“Not bad,” he told her, smiling. “We’ll make a real pilot of you yet.”

With a last, lingering laugh that made her stomach hurt, she collapsed against her chair, as BB-8 beeped and the boy appeared in a rush. He looked ashen, but was smiling too, though it faltered briefly.

“Who was that just talking to you?” he asked, frowning at the co-pilot’s chair. “I thought - never mind. That was incredible! Where’d you learn to fly like that?”

“What about _you_ \- I’d hoped you’d realise what I was doing, but -“

“That was _insane_ , I didn’t think anyone was crazy enough to - “

“- anyone else would’ve lost their last meal with all those manoeuvres I had to pull off to get out of the _Destroyer_. But you knew exactly what I was doing! If you hadn’t - “

“It was just instinct! It’s like I knew what you were gonna do before you even switched off the engine.”

Breathless, they congratulated and praised each other for their shared efforts to evade and escape two First Order pilots in a stolen ship. Giddy, exhilarated, both breathing heavily and grinning from ear to ear, they both had to come down from their adrenaline highs, but in that moment, it didn’t matter that they didn’t know each other: They were thrilled to be together, to have shared the experience of a lifetime.

In that moment, they were just a couple of kids bouncing off each other’s enthusiasm.

BB-8 chirped, and Rey smiled.

“Well, you needed a way back to your base,” she said softly, and BB-8 chirped. “I told you I’d help you find one!” BB-8 beeped. “We didn’t _steal_ it - we’ve just… _borrowed_ it.” BB-8 hummed disapprovingly, and Rey grinned. The boy blinked at her somewhat dazedly. “BB-8, can you patch into the ships’ droids and run diagnostics? Something’s not happy. I want to know what else Unkar Plutt’s done to this ship since I last flew her. Don’t want any nasty surprises if we’re trying to outrace a First Order _Destroyer_.”

BB-8 chirped confidently, happy to have a task, and zoomed out of the cockpit.

“Shouldn’t we go into light-speed?” the boy asked urgently, eyeing the illuminated console. A pair of golden sabacc die glinted, and Rey’s eyes followed his, lingering on the small chess pieces welded onto the console to the left of the pilot’s seat. She had found them, years ago, when Plutt had forced her into the ventilation shaft; someone had shoved the pieces through a grate, the source of an incessant rattling sound deep within the belly of the ship.

“ _Can’t_ ,” Rey told him, shaking her head, her heart thumping in her chest, but her mood levelled out, tempered by the long mental list of repairs she knew she needed to do based on the readings presented to her, added to by BB-8’s chirping whistle in the passage beyond. “Not until I know we won’t be blown to smithereens by one of Plutt’s _improvements_ just for attempting it.”

An alarm was still clanging through the ship, and Rey’s body protested as she clambered out of her seat, unbuckling herself, the boy ducking to avoid her staff, still strapped across her back; she ran to the lounge, where at the far side of the chamber a panel of decking had shot loose, banking off the ceiling before coming to rest on the floor, hissing vapour oozing out over the floor, threatening to overwhelm the atmospheric scrubbers wheezing with the effort to cleanse the fumes.

“I hope it’s not the motivator!” she groaned, shrugging off her staff and satchel, ignoring the emissions, slipping to the edge of the hole and levering herself down into it, mostly avoiding the boiling vapour; she ignored the sting of the burn on the uncovered part of her arm, too used to chemical and electrical burns like this. She had grown up on this ship, tinkering, repairing, learning.

“You can’t go down there - you don’t even know what the problem is!” the boy yelped.

“I _am_ down here. It’s the only way to find out!” Rey said. “You don’t know anything about engines, do you?”

“Better at blowing things up than putting them back together,” the boy said honestly. “I can help, though. Tell me what you need.”

“If you hear screaming but no cursing, haul me up,” Rey said, and just saw the boy’s eyebrows rise as he grinned in surprise.

And he _did_ hear swearing, even over the blare of the alarm: She had a wonderful vocabulary of curses, in quite a few different languages. Once, he called to ask her how many languages she spoke - but she obviously couldn’t hear him over the hissing of the scalding vapour and the alarm; because he didn’t hear her response, if she gave one.

Growling softly to herself, Rey examined the recognisable work of Unkar Plutt. Ham-handed, botched, Plutt was not a natural mechanic. Even before Plutt had imposed his own modifications, the old ship had been a testament to mechanical ingenuity and improvisation. Rey had learned as a little girl that it was a welding-torch and a wish that kept this freighter going, more than anything else. The freighter had once, possibly, been used for smuggling: As a child, she had learned many of its secrets because her size had enabled her to crawl through places others couldn’t reach. Hidden compartments, weapons caches, food, spare parts.

She had learned young to keep some things to herself. She had never told Unkar Plutt everything she had found. But she wondered if he’d learned the secrets of this freighter in the time since she had last been allowed on-board.

Rey popped her head up out of the compartment, face dripping with sweat, her expression grim. “Of course, it’s the motivator. The storage container behind you should have a toolkit. You know what a Harris wrench is?” The boy nodded, already turning to rummage through the storage compartment.

“How bad is it?” he asked, handing her the wrench.

“Uh…well, if I don’t fix it, we’ll be too dead for it to much matter,” Rey said, pulling a face, and disappeared into the compartment again, as the ship gave a nasty jolt, calling to mind the _TIE Starfighters’_ blasters. She was fairly sure they would’ve been blown to hell already, with a few dozen direct hits - if the _Destroyer_ that had despatched the _Starfighters_ hadn’t found them already. They’d be able to reduce the freighter to cosmic dust with a single blast of one of their cannons. “Hand me a Pilex driver, quick!”

The tool materialised six inches from her face, startling her. She reached for it, attention on the motivator. The boy hovered anxiously, and she called for, “Bonding tape, please! No, not that one.” She hoisted herself up, peering across the floor, littered with the contents of the storage compartment, tools and replacement components, and pointed out the one she needed. “No. _No_. N- _Yes_ , that one! Thank you! Toss it here!” She ducked down, fingers nimble, tearing the tape with her teeth, and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. This was a two-person job - or a job for an astromech - but as it was, there wasn’t room for the both of them down here, not if one of them didn’t want to get scalded with severe burns. Sweat dripped off her as the vapour swirled, and she focused, trying to find something calm to focus on - amid the clamour of the alarm, BB-8’s chirping, the boy’s frantic assertions that they needed to jump to light-speed to evade the _Destroyer_ he had escaped from with Poe Dameron - and levitated the tools she needed to help her, not a second pair of hands but something far better. She knew exactly how to fix the motivator, and what needed doing in which fiddly little sequence, and it was easier to do it herself than try to get the boy to help or lower the droid inside with her, taking up precious space and time.

The flow of vapour finally started to slow, ceasing altogether, and Rey groaned with relief as the alarm silenced itself. Gathering up the tools and tape, she hoisted herself out of the compartment with a soft sigh, startled by the sudden silence in the lounge.

“Whoever owned this had _no_ sense of organisation,” said the boy grimly, frowning at the storage compartment. “What a mess.”

“Well, if you want to start organising, have at it,” Rey suggested. “We’ll be needing to use what’s in there more than once before we get BB-8 where he needs to be… Er… Are you alright? You’re - you’re looking rather… _green_.”

“It’s, uh… I’ve had a rough couple days,” the boy said, an understatement. And the greenish colour started to drain from his face, leaving him ashen. His hands were shaking, his pupils shot. She remembered, then, that he had only recently survived a crash, the one BB-8’s master had not made it through. He had also had to make it across the desert on foot.

“You’ve probably got sunstroke, if not concussion. Our dramatic escape probably hasn’t helped,” she remarked with a guilty grimace, and BB-8 chirped softly, wheeling out of the way, as Rey guided the boy to the padded med-bay. She was no medic, certainly no programmed med-droid, but experience was nothing if not a brutal teacher: She had learned. She knew how to look after him. She’d had to learn how to look after herself, suffering the side-effects of an assault of the Jakkuvian desert.

“Thanks,” the boy said uncertainly, as she set him up in the med-bay, using whatever she could find to help her. She was nothing if not excellent at adapting to her surroundings, and finding the value in innocuous, seemingly worthless things. She was good at _improvising_.

When she had him settled down, breathing slowly, wrapped up and sipping water from her flask, she sank into a padded chair in the lounge, startled when she inadvertently jostled a button that made a board of holochess materialise over the table. She needed a moment to catch her breath, after everything that had just happened, before she returned to the cockpit.

There was something…something about the boy being here, with her, in the same position - bewildered, off-balance - that drew her to him, made her want to stay, just to share this moment with him, to be overwhelmed together.

“I don’t know your name,” the boy said quietly, a few moments later, the silence of the lounge pressing in. Rey’s ears were still sensitive, after the blast in Niima that had nearly obliterated her from the face of the planet. And her adrenaline was starting to crash, bringing with it a hideous sort of sombre realisation, a dread in the pit of her stomach. How long had it been since she had been ambushed by Plutt’s thugs? Since the Stormtroopers first shot at them?

Minutes? An hour? Less?

It was this last hour that, Rey knew with absolute certainty, would define the rest of her life.

She sighed, realising something that was equally awful and liberating: There would be no returning to Jakku.

Instead of answering, she turned a shrewd eye on the boy, giving voice to something she had noticed even as they fled the _Starfighters_ on foot.

“You’re not a Resistance fighter, are you,” she said, with quiet sternness. The boy blinked at her, and his eyes widened slightly as his lips parted. “I can tell when people are trying to lie to me… You’re wearing all-black beneath that stolen jacket. Just like those Stormtroopers wore under their armour. How did a Resistance pilot escape the First Order in one of their own ships?”

The boy sighed, and in a second’s decision, abandoned whatever charade he might’ve been tempted to keep up.

“I’m not with the Resistance,” he admitted dully, glancing from Rey to the droid as BB-8 emitted a soft gasp. He looked uncomfortable, as if…ashamed. “I’m… I _was_ FN-2187. That was all they ever called me. I was taken when I was a small child and raised to be a soldier in the First Order’s Stormtrooper armies. Until Tuanul. It was my first conflict. When my Captain gave the order to execute the villagers…I couldn’t. Couldn’t do it. We took Poe Dameron prisoner, and I knew…I _knew_ it was wrong. So I - I broke him out. We stole a _TIE_ _Fighter_ , but we crashed. Poe told me about the droid before we went down. We landed in the desert; the ship exploded when it sank into the sand, and it…it took Poe with it. I…found my way to the Outpost, somehow, just…following this… _feeling_. I don’t know how I survived all that, or why it was me and not Poe… I never expected to find the droid. And I’m sorry, that you were dragged into this mess.”

“You didn’t drag me into it,” Rey said softly, eyeing the boy. “You don’t have to apologise.” The boy smiled at her hesitantly. “It’s the droid’s fault.” The boy’s smile widened at her teasing tone, as BB-8 chirped and beeped defensively. Rey’s lips twitched, chuckling softly. “I’m only teasing, BB-8. Your mission…is important…” She glanced at the boy. “Why you didn’t tell me the truth to begin with?”

The boy stared at her, lowering the flask. “Because I’m ashamed of what I was.”

“You landed on _Jakku_ ,” Rey said softly. “The galaxy’s junkyard. Nobody was going to care what you _used_ to be before you ended up there.” She sighed heavily, enjoying the quiet of the lounge for a few precious moments, and gazed at the boy. “If they called you FN-2187…what do you call yourself?”

“Poe refused to call me FN-2187. He named me Finn,” said the boy, and BB-8 beeped softly. Rey knew he was likely thinking about his master; because she was. _You do good things, and good things will come back to you_. Poe’s would-be rescuer, a Stormtrooper deserter. Poe had _humanised_ FN-2187 with the simple act of naming him. Poe Dameron was sounding more and more like the kind of man Rey might have liked to know. And that was what was so sad about it, she thought: She would never know him. Only the legacy of his kindness remained, in his droid and in this boy he had given a name, the first act of compassion a stolen child-soldier had ever experienced.

She supposed there were worse legacies to leave behind, reflecting on the Graveyard of Imperial warships that had provided cover from its own resurgent forces to aid in their escape.

“What about you?” Finn asked.

“Me? Oh. I’m…just Rey,” she said softly.

“What are you?” he prompted curiously, and she blinked at him, tilting her head to one side, confused.

“I’m…a scavenger,” she said, frowning. “Just a scavenger.”

“I saw you fighting those two thugs,” Finn said, his lips tilting up at the corners as his eyes glinted. “You’re not _just_ a scavenger. How did you learn how to fight like that?”

Rey sighed, glancing at Finn. “Experience… I’d better get to work.”

“Work? On what?”

“Undoing all Unkar Plutt’s _improvements_ ,” Rey sighed, shaking her head. “There’s a compressor on the ignition-line. It puts too much stress on the hyper-drive. Then there’s the fuel-pump. I need to check the escape-pods are functional, too - hopefully Plutt didn’t strip them for tech. BB-8… If we put you in a pod, could you get back to your base?”

BB-8 chirped concernedly.

“I don’t like it, but we might have to split up. I’d be your decoy,” Rey said, and BB-8 chirped agitatedly. “It’s alright… I don’t matter. But you do. The First Order can’t find you.”

“She’s right,” Finn said quietly, his eyes on the droid. “Poe died tryin’ to get back to you. Because it was worth the risk, him dying, to get you back to the Resistance. That _map_ , it was worth dying for. And it’s worth it to the First Order to _kill_ for.” He glanced at Rey. “You’re a Resistance sympathiser?”

Rey sighed heavily.

“I…can’t return to Jakku,” she said quietly, her arm stinging where the vapour had burned her. She was too used to it now, but the boy - Finn - sat up, noticing her wince, and handed her the med-pack. She fiddled with the contents, rarely having the supplies to tend to any wounds she received. She either healed by herself, or she didn’t. She glanced at Finn. “I…don’t know what else to do, so… I might as well do what I can. I’ll get BB-8 where he needs to be. And I’m a far better mechanic than a pilot. I’m sure the Resistance can always use more skilled mechanics.”

BB-8 trilled enthusiastically, rolling on the spot, chirping and cooing.

“Sounds like he likes the idea of you sticking around,” Finn said. BB-8 cooed and whistled. Rey smiled softly to herself, but the smile faded.

“I need to make the repairs,” she said, climbing out of her seat. Her muscles twinged: She had spent all day scavenging, after all, even before everything that had occurred at Niima Outpost. The usual aches and pains of a day’s scavenging were now accompanied by the aftershocks of narrowly escaping a bomb-blast, her entire body aching, her ears still ringing, and now her arm burned by vapour.

All she wanted was to sleep: her adrenaline had well and truly crashed, the pain in her arm had redoubled but still - with no co-pilot, an ill passenger and a BB droid containing crucial information that the First Order terrorists would kill for, she had a lot of work to do.

“BB-8, can you check the escape pods?” she asked quietly, and the droid beeped as she made her way back to the cockpit. “I need you to set coordinates for one to take you to your base.” BB-8 paused, and beeped. “It’s a last resort…I don’t _want_ to send you away. C’mon.” She sighed, and knelt before him. The little droid focused his photoreceptor on her face. “I know you’re sad about Poe. But you don’t have to worry about me, alright, I can take care of myself.” BB-8 beeped. “Alright. If you’d like to. You can worry about me. Come on, we’ve got work to do. It’s more accident and luck than skill that’s kept us out of the First Order’s hands… We’re going to need a lot more of it, before we get you back to your base.”

She reached the cockpit, flicking several switches and a couple of buttons to ensure they remained in level autopilot, getting to work freeing the ignition-line from the compressor.

There was a soft grunt behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder. Finn gave her an awkward, earnest smile, as he sank into the co-pilot’s seat. “Figured you could start training a co-pilot?”

“You should be resting,” Rey told him gently.

“Hey, I’d rather help you get us the hell out of here,” Finn said, his voice stern and determined. She could appreciate that he wanted to get as far away from the First Order as possible.

“What will happen to you, if they catch you?” she asked.

“Execution,” Finn said, and Rey nodded, turning to the console. So matter-of-fact about it. But then, hadn’t she accepted that there was no way she could return to Jakku. “I mean, they’ll make a point of making it public, as a warning to the others.”

Rey glanced at Finn. “Are there others? I mean - others who might be considering deserting?”

“Maybe,” Finn mumbled, as she pointed out several buttons and switches she needed him to activate. “If they were thinking about it, they’d never say it out loud. Or be stupid enough to do anything about it.”

“I think it’s _brave_ ,” Rey said, her smile warm when Finn glanced at her. He gave her a small, grudging smile, as if he was still reconsidering the wisdom of abandoning all he knew, painting a target on his back an entire squadron of Stormtroopers, surely, couldn’t all miss. She told him what each of the buttons and switches were that he was adjusting, and why they were necessary. Piloting wasn’t as simple as turning on the engines and lifting off: Especially with Unkar Plutt’s _improvements_.

A little while later, Rey smiled, satisfied, as she disconnected the last wire, freeing the ignition-line of the compressor Plutt had installed. There was nothing she could do about the fuel-pump without berthing somewhere with proper tools and components, but without the stress on the hyper-drive they stood a decent chance of outracing the First Order _Destroyer_.

Perhaps it hadn’t been the best idea to ask Finn to tell her just what they were up against. There was a certain safety in being ignorant of the cold, hard facts of impending doom. She shouldn’t have asked about the Destroyer’s firepower, or the contents of its hangars - how many more _TIE Fighters_ would be sent after them? - or the troops that could swarm this freighter to subdue them, if the First Order was determined to _take_ BB-8 rather than eliminate him.

The ignition-line freed of the compressor, Rey took a chance, and sent them into light-speed, out of the Inner Rim, hoping they continued to evade the First Order for as long as it took to get the Resistance base’s coordinates from a reluctant BB-8. But it was the first step. And the furthest she had ever been from Jakku since finding herself abandoned there, thirteen years and nine days ago.

She knew she had travelled through space before, but it was beyond her memory: Her lips parted, watching the stars, nebulae, stars and moons and small planets turn to beams of light streaming past as the freighter moved with surprising grace through hyperspace.

It was… _beautiful_.

And at the same time…devastating.

Rey knew loneliness. Trapped in a capsule, hurtling through hyperspace, the unending, empty darkness threatened to overwhelm her. It looked like there was nothing…but that was just a trick of travelling at light-speed: They were hurtling past worlds so fast, they appeared as a blip of light.

They were not alone in the galaxy, even if…even if she felt she was.

As they came out of hyperspace, the droid trilled something, and Rey climbed out of the cockpit to go and find him: He was servicing an escape-pod.

“‘ _If found please return to Han Solo_ ’?” Finn frowned, gazing at the door to the pod, which stood ajar as BB-8 made some hasty repairs, beeping and whirring. Finn’s face turned slack with shock. “ _The_ Han Solo?”

“The smuggler?”

“The Rebel general! This is _Han Solo_ ’s ship?”

“Can’t be. The _Millennium Falcon_ made the Kessel Run in less than fourteen parsecs,” Rey said, glancing around the hulking beast they now found themselves in possession of. “She handles well, but… BB-8, have you set the course for the escape-pod, just in case? Good. Now I need you to share the coordinates with me. Let’s get out of this system.”

BB-8 beeped and chirped, head swivelling on his rotund body as a welding-torch and telescoping arm were busy inside the escape-pod.

“The Ileenium System?!” Rey blurted, glancing at Finn. “D’Qar.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Finn frowned.

“I think that’s the point,” Rey said. “I think it’s in the _Outer Rim_. Alright. I’ll set our course.”

She returned to the cockpit, Finn following, and they sat at the console so she could teach Finn how to set their coordinates. It occurred to her that only she knew how to fly this freighter: If she was incapacitated, Finn’s chances of survival - of getting BB-8 back to his base - were slim to none.

Finn pressed a button, nodding at her explanation of its function, and the console went dead.

“What’d I do?” Finn asked, raising his hands away from the console.

Rey blinked. Tried a few buttons and switches.

“Someone’s overridden the controls. They’ve…locked onto us.”

Suddenly everything was washed with angry crimson light, and Rey raised her eyes, dread settling into the pit of her stomach, as the stars went out above them. Whatever had locked onto them it dwarfed the huge freighter.

“It’s the First Order,” Finn breathed.

 _What did you expect, really_? Rey asked herself. This was the First Order they were dealing with, not Unkar Plutt’s thugs.

“BB-8!” she blurted, throwing herself out of the pilot’s seat. It was the droid they wanted - and Finn, too, to make an example of him - but…no, it had all started because of BB-8. Poe Dameron’s final, fatal flight in a stolen First Order _TIE Fighter_ , the destruction of Niima Outpost… “BB-8, get in the escape pod! _Now_!”

BB-8 whirred and moaned skittishly, as she hurtled down the corridor to him.

“Someone’s locked onto us, they’ll board the ship in a matter of minutes - all we can do is put you out into orbit, and hope this pod slips past their radar unnoticed,” Rey said urgently, as the droid beeped an argument. “No. This isn’t a _discussion_ , BB-8. I’m sending you alone, and that’s the end of it. They’ll kill me just for having helped you so far, and Finn already has a target on his back - we’re the walking dead! So it doesn’t matter. Yes, you _can_ leave us behind. And you must. It’s the mission that’s important.”

That’s how they were found, her and Finn, frantically preparing the escape-pod.

“Hands where I can see ‘em.”

An older man with steely-grey hair, a thigh-holster and a great jacket swaggered down the corridor, his face lined, worn, grim but still attractive. He had laughter-lines around his eyes but didn’t seem to have used them for some time, and he aimed his pistol at them with a steady hand.

Not a Stormtrooper. Not even a First Order officer.

He looked like an aging scoundrel, if she was being honest.

Rey held her hands up, eyes darting from the pistol aimed at them to the _Wookie_ striding up behind the human male. Beside her, Finn gaped at the hairy giant. BB-8 kept quiet in the unsealed escape-pod.

“Where’s your pilot?”

“You’re lookin’ at her,” Finn said, indicating Rey, and the man frowned at her, bemused. The Wookiee roared.

“ _You_?”

“I’m not _diminutive_!” Rey scowled indignantly at the Wookiee. “And what does my size have to do with being a pilot?!”

“You can _understand_ that thing?” Finn gaped, as Rey nodded.

“And _that thing_ can understand you - so watch it,” said the man. He turned to Rey with a frown. “Where’d you learn Shyriiwook?”

“An Offworlder at the Outpost,” Rey said. “Claimed he spoke no Basic, thought it made him seem mysterious. He taught me to curse in Xaczik.”

“Where’s the rest of you crew?”

“There isn’t anyone else,” Rey blurted, Finn nodding.

Out of nowhere, BB-8 extended a grapple-hook, tangling it around the man’s pistol, whipping it out of his hands, beeping threateningly. The Wookiee roared, aiming a bowcaster at the droid, who was beeping shrilly, excited, his photoreceptor on the man, fidgeting inside the escape-pod.

Self-preservation be damned, Rey threw herself in front of the escape-pod, shielding BB-8, who was now chirping and cooing and singing happily. He had quietly run facial-recognition and was practically purring with delight, beeping and trilling.

“ _Han Solo_?” Rey gaped, turning to stare at the man, who was shaking his hand, frowning at his fingers. “You’re - are you _sure_ , BB-8? - you’re Han Solo? _The_ Han Solo? The Rebel general who helped blow up the Death Star?”

The man frowned at her. “I used to be.”

BB-8 trilled excitedly.

“He says you fought with General Leia Organa,” Rey gasped reverentially.

“Yeah,” said Han Solo, pulling a face. “And on occasion we’d even fight the Empire, too.”

Rey turned a breathless grin on Finn, who looked stunned. “We need your help - “

“First thing’s first,” said Han Solo, holding up his hands. “Where’d you get this ship?”

“Niima Outpost,” Rey told him. Man and Wookiee exchanged a look.

“ _Jakku_?! That junkyard!” Han Solo blurted indignantly. He frowned at the Wookiee. “I _told_ you we should’ve double-checked the Western Reaches. Who had it? Ducain?”

“Unkar Plutt had it. He stole it from the Irving Boys, who stole it from Ducain,” Rey told him.

“Who stole it from _me_!” said the man. “How’d you get a-hold of her?”

“We stole it from Unkar Plutt -“

BB-8 chirped.

“We _borrowed_ it from Unkar Plutt.”

“Well, you tell your friend Unkar Plutt that Han Solo just stole back the _Millennium Falcon_.”

Rey gasped, staring, and in her excitement, she got her words mixed up. “The Minnellium Falcon?!”

Han Solo stared at her, as if he had seen a ghost.

“I mean - the _Millennium Falcon_!” she gurgled a laugh, grinning, exhilarated. The _Millennium_ _Falcon_! All these years, she had grown up on stories of the Rebel Alliance heroes, the pilots - she had grown up in this ship, learning the art of engineering as she learned her secrets. She had grown up in the _Millennium Falcon_ , as legendary as General Organa and Luke Skywalker themselves?!

Frowning softly at her, Han Solo turned, heading for the cockpit. Rey glanced at Finn, who raised his eyebrows - and they both darted after the legendary man, as the Wookiee lifted BB-8 from the escape-pod with startling gentleness.

“Hey! Tell me you’re not installing a compressor on the ignition-line!” Han Solo shouted from the cockpit, as they barrelled in behind him. He stood with his arms draped over the backs of the pilots’ chairs, and there was something in his body-language that suggested…he was _home_. Contentment seemed to drift off him in soft waves, but he had picked up the discarded wiring.

“No, I just _un_ installed it - Unkar Plutt is _not_ a natural mechanic,” Rey told him. “Compressor puts too much stress - “

“ - on the hyperdrive,” Han Solo sighed, frowning at her. He glanced back at the console. “And what’s with all the chess-pieces _\- who welded them onto my console_?!”

“ _I_ did,” Rey said. “They’re Ben’s.”

Han Solo jolted as if she had caught him with a blaster. His face leeched of colour as he stared at her, his expression slack.

“ _What_?” he breathed, and Rey smiled, ducking around him, to a small grate in the panelling of the console to the left of the pilot’s seat. She had once been small enough to crawl through the grate, which seemed inconceivable to her now. Beside the grate, someone had used a welding torch to write their name, in shaky, juvenile lettering. _Ben_.

She’d had to ask Unkar what the symbols meant. Even now, she couldn’t read more than a few familiar words.

“When I was a little girl, Unkar Plutt had me crawl through the ventilation system to make repairs. There was a rattling noise he couldn’t find the source of - until I found the chess-pieces; they’d gotten lodged beyond the S-bend.”

Han Solo had sunk into the pilot’s seat. She straightened up, and saw that his face was still slack, and he was staring at the three symbols etched into the metal beside the grate, as if his heart had just been scooped out of his chest and he was still processing the violence of the act itself, numb to any pain.

Rey didn’t know how she knew, but she felt it, she felt his grief in that moment, and realised that…Han Solo had known _Ben_ , whoever he was. And something _awful_ had happened to him. It was the way he reached to trace his finger over the letters, the _name_.

She stepped back from the console, feeling like an intruder on a very intimate moment between Han Solo and his memories.

His hand had been steady as he held his pistol aimed at them: His fingers trembled ever so slightly as he reached for the chess-pieces, touching his fingertips to each in turn.

Then he swivelled in the pilot’s seat, and his face was set, stern, frowning at them.

“Chewie?! Put ‘em in a pod. We’ll drop them at the nearest inhabited planet,” Han Solo sighed, and the Wookiee growled from the lounge.

“ _You_ married Princess Leia, didn’t you - General Organa,” Rey exclaimed. “The Senator?! She was a Rebel leader, and you married her.”

Han Solo sighed heavily; the Wookiee called something, but Rey didn’t catch it. “Yeah, I married her.”

“We need your help to get to her,” Rey said. “We need to get my droid - well, he’s a Resistance droid - to General Organa, now, before the First Order catches up with us!”

“What’s so special about the droid?” Han Solo asked, pulling a face as if he wasn’t in the least bit interested.

“He’s carrying a map to Luke Skywalker,” Finn told him.

And that made Han Solo pause. Something flickered across his face - a shadow. A flicker of memory. And Rey noticed the fleeting droop of Han Solo’s shoulders, his body briefly giving into a soul-deep exhaustion.

“You _are_ the Han Solo who fought in the Rebellion,” Finn said softly, reading Han Solo’s body-language as Rey had. “You knew Luke Skywalker.”

“Yeah,” Han Solo sighed heavily, his expression grim. “I knew him. I knew Luke.”

A thunderous rumble echoed through the ship; the metal beneath her feet trembled slightly.

“Oh, don’t tell me a Rathtar’s gotten loose!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s an allusion in the novelisations that Ben Solo wanted to grow up to be a pilot “like his daddy”, so I imagine (before it was stolen) that Han spent a lot of time on the Millennium Falcon with a very young Ben. *I watch too much Supernatural, so the bit about the chess-pieces is a nod to Sam’s toy soldiers stuck in the heating-vent of the Impala, as is Ben’s name scratched into the console.


	5. The Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when Kylo Ren first meets Rey, he says that line, “The girl I’ve heard so much about.” From who?! This is me, plugging plot-holes!

**I Am Yours, You Are Mine**

_05_

_The Girl_

* * *

The alien was a nauseating pile of unwashed blubber, grim and dirty, his chins tucked into his clothing, reinforced with plate metal. He was _mean_ , rather than clever, and it was his meanness that kept Niima Outpost under his control. According to the ground-troops, this shuddering, petty creature held dominion over the desert and its inhabitants, parting with Imperial ration-packs for scavenged tech and component parts like a miser, hoarding water, determining the fate of all those who called the junkyard desert planet of Jakku their home.

He was reduced to a gurgling, whimpering pile of jiggling chins, gasping and gaping, as Kylo Ren sifted through his memories with the ease of turning the pages of a familiar book. Seeking _her_ …

There she was.

Sifting through the alien’s memories as if they were his own, she gazed back at him through long, fine lashes, dark hazel eyes levelled challengingly, her chin level, even though her expression was studiously mild, negotiating payment for a droid beeping anxiously beside her - a customised orange-and-white BB unit.

She was… _beautiful_ , in spite of her grubbiness - or perhaps her ragged garb served to highlight her loveliness. Her shining sun-streaked molasses hair was wound into two rope braids, coiled and pinned into buns at the nape of her neck. She had richly tanned skin that looked as if it would be warm to the touch, a constellation of freckles across her cheeks and pretty nose, and beautiful lips. Her build was slight, leanly muscled. Deceptively delicate.

Moments later, the alien watched two of his thugs approach the girl, one carrying a sack to grab the droid - and there was a stir of wry amusement, a spark of recognition, as the girl lifted a quarterstaff, whipping and twirling and dancing in the sand, knocking both large males unconscious in a matter of moments. Lean and lithe, the girl moved with the grace and purpose of a snake. She made it look effortless and elegant, in spite of the sand shifting unpredictably beneath her feet. A tiny thing, she was; and he realised the danger of underestimating her because of her size. The thugs had made that mistake, and were not the only ones.

He sifted back through the alien’s memories.

Each time he saw the girl, it was the same. Years and years of her showing up at the tent, with scavenged tech and components, trading them for Imperial rations. Sometimes negotiating, mostly arguing, and always, Kylo Ren noticed, she kept her expression studiously bland whenever she spoke to the alien. It infuriated the alien, Ren felt it, to not know what was going on behind those hazel eyes, and there was lingering resentment that the girl had… _survived_ , without his help - she was not beholden to him, had chosen…to scavenge a living in the desert, and make a home for herself out of a downed Imperial AT-AT, collapsed in a sand-dune on the way toward Tuanul.

He sifted through the memories, going deeper, searching the past.

The very first glimpse of her.

A little girl in a linen dress and twin rope-braids dangling past her shoulders, softly weeping in pain, and thrashing - she sank tiny white teeth into the fleshy arm of the burly alien dragging her out of the hold of their freighter: Roaring in annoyance, already simmering with fury, the brutish alien violently flung her down the landing-ramp of his freighter. She hit the ramp, rolling down, scraping skin, and landed heavily in the sand, utterly still, and for a moment, she didn’t move. Then she stirred, as the alien shouted abuse at her, tiny spots of green blood shining on his arm where her little teeth had broken the skin. Her tiny body seemed to grow larger, and she bellowed back a response - something startling to hear a child say, especially with such venom - darting out of reach.

A stowaway, he realised, from what the alien was bellowing. Discovered in a ventilation shaft. Blood trickling from her little button nose, a purplish-green bruise healing around one eye, her long eyelashes casting shadows over her cheeks as the desert sun burned down, a _kyber crystal_ glowing against her chest where it had come untucked from the neck of her dress, and she clenched her hands fretfully as she gazed around the desolate marketplace, dizzy and in pain, and the landing-ramp rose, the freighter lifting off, gaining altitude in a moment. They had made berth only long enough to shove the girl on the nearest inhabited planet. Her dress was singed, sooty, and there was a shiny burn on one leg, a jagged cut healing on the other.

She looked…shell-shocked.

And so _young_.

Young, and so delicate. Already so brutalised.

She looked like she had staggered out of a warzone, and from what the shivering pile of flesh whose memories he was raiding could recall, what the little the girl had said about her origins implied she had been separated from her family amid fiery explosions, a droid tucking her on-board an unknown freighter it had stolen, flying out of a port as fire exploded around them - only for the droid to be destroyed when they landed at an unfamiliar port; she had found her way across the galaxy, stowing away on various craft by tucking herself out of sight. Three ships, she had once mentioned, after the explosions that had burned and cut her legs and hurt her ears, leaving them ringing for days.

Trying to get _back to her family_.

He sifted through more memories, rejecting with a flinch the whisper, the glint, the ache of something in his chest that panged through him, dark eyes flitting through his mind, gentle hands. Calling him…

Instead, he watched the little girl growing, fiery, righteous - and unexpectedly sweet. Her warm, lilting accent, and her smile brought the alien contentment: He had a secret soft spot for her. Had been amused by her, and found use for her on-board his newly-acquired freighter…the _Falcon_ … The alien had given a few years over to ham-handedly attempting to raise the half-feral girl.

Kylo Ren watched the little girl, tutored by and then exceeding the skills of the alien as he taught her engineering. She had a natural appreciation for mechanics, Ren could see. She picked things up with uncanny speed, and was curious, experimental and determined. If something didn’t work, she tried something else, until she got what she wanted.

She was so small, the alien had initially traded water and rations for work on his ships, where she could climb into the unreachable places: He had taught her what was of value in the Graveyard of Imperial ships downed during the Battle of Jakku. Had taught her how to fly, the better to earn her rations from him by making dangerous runs across the desert.

Kylo Ren gulped, more than ever glad of the mask to conceal his reaction as he sifted into another memory - as she appeared in the shimmering heat beyond the shade of Plutt’s tent, her knee was bloody, she was wrapped in sand-sashes, her entire head covered in a cowl, repurposed, lopsided Stormtrooper goggles clamping her head-covering in place. She struggled to shift her load - a makeshift sled piled with scavenged tech and component parts - and a quarterstaff.

 _His_ quarterstaff.

A quarterstaff he had lost years ago. A staff _she_ used, to whack a diminutive alien over the head who came too close to her cache of scavenged parts. It was an unpractised hit, but an effective warning.

Ren paused, lingering in the memory, as the little girl pulled the goggles and cowl from her face with blistered fingers criss-crossed with burns and cuts, picked up an evil-looking wire brush, and, panting and clearly exhausted, her pretty face drawn in concentration and determination, settled in to clean her haul.

This…he knew this.

He _remembered_ this.

This…was the aftermath of…that afternoon - six aliens in the sand, and in the centre of them, clambering off her knees and coughing, a little girl who raised her balled hands to him…and let him show her how to hold her fists so she wouldn’t break her thumbs when delivering a punch.

… _Real_ …

Not just a dream.

Not…one of the visions that had plagued his mind since childhood, turning his dreams to hellish nightmares. _Real_. She was living, tangible proof…

For years…he had wondered.

He flinched - and hated the flinch, reproaching himself for his weakness, his momentary lapse. He exhaled slowly, ignoring the twinge of _compassion_ in the pit of his stomach as he watched the girl’s tiny fingers start to bleed as she scrubbed and polished junk traded with Plutt for a half-portion of Imperial emergency rations twenty years out of date.

He seized another memory, and watched on, sifting through the girl’s life.

She had grown, from a tiny, righteous little beast quick to brawl, mouthy and with a rare, disarmingly sweet, earnest smile, into a painfully slender adolescent with sharp elbows, wiry muscles and seemingly limitless patience, her childhood brashness abraded by the sands to something calm and unyielding, discerning. She was… _impressive_. Kylo Ren watched in quiet awe as she blossomed into a young-woman, her youthful fire tempered with patience, her innate sweetness and irrepressible warmth alien in the harsh desert culture of Jakku and therefore, extraordinary. She was kind, calm, with an innate strength, and an intuition more than one person in Niima Outpost had marvelled at. Experience - the instincts honed for her survival - had made her naturally shrewd; and yet nothing could tarnish her innate kindness and righteousness.

She kept to herself, unless bartering for her salvaged components - or brawling with another scavenger.

Sometimes she would linger in the market to listen to news from Offworlders, and he watched her face light up as travellers told stories from worlds away.

She was… _alone_.

Until the droid.

Ren returned to Plutt’s most recent memories of the girl.

Her expression had remained bland, unreadable, when he offered her one hundred Imperial rations for the droid. The alien didn’t notice - but Ren did: Her eyelashes had fluttered, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly. Tempted. _Shrewd_. She was working it out, behind those hazel eyes. Understood Plutt better than he could ever hope to know her.

She declined the deal. Spoke gently to the agitated droid as they departed Plutt’s tent.

Plutt hadn’t personally seen the girl board the freighter.

But she was the only person unaccounted for, after the chaos of the _TIE Starfighters’_ attack on the Outpost had abated.

According to Plutt’s memories, she was the only other person who knew of all the fail-safes Plutt had installed to ensure no-one could steal the freighter - not without losing precious moments, alerting him to the theft.

She had argued against installing the compressor on the ignition-line; and Ren agreed, such a thing would put too much pressure on the hyperdrive.

He sifted through Plutt’s memories, his modifications to - rage seethed through Kylo Ren - _his_ _father’s_ Corellian YT-1300 Transport, the _Millennium Falcon_.

A fuel-pump: Compressor on the ignition-line. True repairs hadn’t been made in years; it hadn’t been flown in just as long. Maintenance had been non-existent, after the girl had stopped tinkering, learning.

The _Falcon_ wouldn’t get far. Not in its condition.

Not with a scavenger at the console, only a deserter Stormtrooper as co-pilot. Not with the full force of the First Order after them. Not when a galaxy-wide alert had been sent out for the location of the _Millennium Falcon_ \- with an enticing reward in exchange for information.

A deserter, the droid, and _her_ …all on one hulking freighter likely disintegrating as it churned through space.

He withdrew from the alien’s mind, leaving him a shuddering heap whimpering in the sand.

“ _Send out a galaxy-wide alert. I want the_ Millennium Falcon _found - and its crew captured, unharmed_.”

“Unharmed, sir?”

Ren did not repeat himself. He felt no need to. He strode to his customised _TIE Whisper_ , exquisitely modified, lethal and ominous - a beauty to pilot, sensitive as if to his very thoughts rather than his touch - and took off, skimming the sand, searching the horizon, while the troopers returned to the Destroyer to relay comms and receive further orders for deployment.

He was…curious.

The AT-AT took moments to find, by _TIE Whisper_ …it would have taken hours to traverse on foot: The girl had owned a twin-engine speeder, already claimed by Unkar Plutt in the girl’s absence. The AT-AT, Ren felt, would swiftly follow, stripped of its innards, but not before he examined it. Purely to ascertain whether the girl had ties to the Resistance, or was a secret sympathiser - possibly a refugee herself of the early conflicts between the First Order and the Resistance, by her age. She could not be more than twenty. About fifteen years ago, the First Order had started to target its oldest enemies, the heroes of the Rebellion: a decade ago, Kylo Ren had joined with Supreme Leader Snoke, to aid in stamping them out once and for all.

Sprawled, half-buried in the sand, there was only one access-point into the AT-AT, and it was sweltering inside, baked by the incessant sun. It was a home, if such a thing could be classed as a one. There was a sleeping-bag, a workbench organised with scavenged tools, projects half-completed - missing important components, he observed. A small doll caught his attention, one of the few personal items in the chamber; it had been sewn out of a Rebellion pilot jumpsuit. In a shard of pipe, dried, preserved blood-red flowers were an unexpectedly soft, feminine touch to the chamber.

There was a hot-plate made of scavenged parts, a generator - again, scavenged and repurposed - and a dented cup and plate. One of each. No cutlery. Nothing, but the empty ration-packets, neatly piled - to trade, once she had accumulated enough? There weren’t nearly enough. There were no extra clothes, no other amenities besides the dried flowers and the doll - there were no books, no trinkets, nothing extraneous.

He reached for the doll without thinking, frowning, and picked it up. It wasn’t female, he noticed. It had been clumsily made, but he could discern that the doll was male. And the clothes it was wearing, pieced together out of scraps, had been sewn…in the style of a padawan’s robes. Sewn to one fabric hand…was an antenna. It looked…like a _staff_.

He touched the antenna, stunned.

Still holding the doll, he blinked around the little, desolate chamber, with its sleeping-bag nestled in a well in the sand, and the dented crockery for one, and noticed the far wall. As he shifted away from the auxiliary passage he had clambered through to get inside, the light shimmered and glinted off the wall where someone had scratched the surface of the metal. Thousands upon thousands of centimetre-long marks.

One for every day, he knew instinctually.

Without realising he still held onto the doll, Kylo Ren ducked out of the sweltering AT-AT. How could she tolerate to sleep inside such a furnace? In his thick, quilted overtunic, his leather trousers and high boots, his heavy cloak and cowl, sweat was slipping down the nape of his neck in rivulets, soaking his silk and linen undershirts, tickling his hair under his helmet. The physical discomfort was nothing, he told himself sternly: Information on the girl, current possessor of the droid and the last flickering spark of _hope_ that fuelled the Resistance, was all that mattered.

The young woman who carried _his_ training quarterstaff, lost a decade ago.

The young woman who had _made_ a tiny doll out of scavenged scraps of cloth, resembling a young Jedi… _Him_.

No. The ghost of the weak, frightened boy Kylo Ren had _killed_ in order to embrace his destiny as the Supreme Leader’s greatest weapon against the Resistance, his only natural successor to the First Order.

Yet there it was. Still resting in his leather-gloved hand. The doll.

Proof, if he had ever yearned for it, that…it had been real. That the little girl who had slipped seamlessly into his dreams, and even his waking moments, focused his mind during the worst moments of terror…had _seen him too_.

It - _she_ \- had not been a figment of his imagination. Yet another vision, another voice.

She was very much real.

As he had been for her.

He climbed into his _TIE Whisper_ and took off, returning to the _Destroyer_. His orders had already been relayed: He strode through the corridors, troopers and officers alike scuttling out of his way, out of his sight, as astromechs droids and trained mechanics descended on his _TIE Whisper_ to make any necessary adjustments, and polish it until the painted metal shone like onyx. He swept through the _Destroyer_ to his private chambers, comfortably cool where the girl’s AT-AT had been breathlessly sweltering, and retrieved the doll from inside the folds of his cloak. Why had he brought it with him?

He should incinerate it.

Yet, as swiftly as the idea came, he recoiled.

Heart thundering in his chest, Ren winced, clenching his jaw - but resisted. Resisted the urge to destroy it - the one fragment of proof… He didn’t know why it was important. Why he had salvaged the doll - _scavenged_ it from the home of a lowly Jakku scavenger, no better than a Jawa!

 _But she is_ , a voice whispered, tinkling with light, soft and sweet. He still didn’t let go of the doll, and he blinked, glancing around the chamber.

Where the AT-AT had been repurposed, turned into a home over time, organic, with tiny flourishes of individuality the scavenger could afford - the flowers, the doll, the scratches on the wall, her workbench of projects never to be completed - suddenly, his chambers…seemed very antiseptic. Meticulously clean, polished and buffed…cool…and soulless. No indication anyone lived in them at all, except for one thing.

He rose, and approached the plinth. It stood in pride of place, and upon it…a snarled, warped, half-melted _mask_ , relic of an old war…vestige of a great man who had given in to temptation, to his own destruction.

Kylo Ren slammed the doll down.

And then winced. Reached for it. Painstakingly bent the antennae-staff straight, where it had bent on impact. Light glinted off the little antennae, and part of the padawan robe where the reflective parts of a pilot’s jumpsuit had been used. He set the doll down gently beside his grandfather’s helmet. His legacy.

He reached up, removing his own helmet, panting. He eyed the doll. The girl.

The Light coaxed him, incessant and niggling as ever - it threaded through his memories and bore into his heart, relentless…emanating from the girl, rich and golden and good, as if lit from within as she danced and wove through his memories, the child he had once seen her as in his mind… Now, a young-woman, thrust into the middle of it.

He knew the ways of the Force, as no other alive ever could.

The Force was in all things, guiding him. He had known it since the first moment he felt her presence, all those years ago. And Kylo Ren knew with absolute certainty that the girl was his future.

For the first time in many years, Kylo Ren’s heart fluttered - with _anticipation_.

Conquest.

The Force had bound them, years ago; he felt it. And the Force had now put them in each other’s paths, though she did not yet know it. They were _intended_. For what, Kylo Ren could not say, but in the pit of his stomach…he dared to hope, for what, he could not yet say.

But it was momentous that he should have found her. And _right_.

 _Rey_.

The name of the little angel whose lullaby had soothed his worst nightmares, cooed and sighed across constellations. Such a small, little name - and yet, so evocative.

He almost forgot about the droid, so focused was he on the girl. _Almost_.

Until they heard from their network of spies, allies, officers in the Occupied Territories or informants, he could only prepare for his next move: He needed to be ready. He needed to be refreshed, alert, _focused_. On the droid.

He stripped out of his sweat-soaked clothes, dumping them in a laundry chute as he entered the bathing chamber, all gleaming chrome and quartz, and stepped behind the frosted glass panel separating the shower: A large square panel in the ceiling sent jets of water cascading down, and as he stepped under it, the temperate cool to soothe his burning body and wake him up, he blinked, startled by the sudden thought that the water he was using for his shower amounted to more water than the scavenger had earned in the entirety of her lifespan.

Squeezing water from his clean hair, he frowned, unsettled by the fleeting, burning sensation…something like _shame_ \- embarrassment, that he had taken something so simple for granted, only consciously thinking of it when confronted by Rey’s brutally deprived life.

He had rummaged through that alien’s mind, exploring the memories that had since saturated his mind, now his own. The alien’s experiences of Rey were now his. He could _remember_ her.

And that might prove…troublesome, Ren frowned, pressing his palm to a panel in the wall as he lingered on a small plate in the floor that sent a soft current through his body, drying his skin, and his hair, until it fell in thick, glossy waves to his shoulders.

He pulled on clean underclothes, ignoring the twinge in the pit of her stomach, even as he acknowledged that even _this_ was a luxury. Clean clothes, with no hint of wear. Thick, warm - suited for extensive space-travel: Tailored, the better to fight in. Even the smallest tear or fraying expertly darned by specialised droids; pieces damaged beyond repair replaced without him having to request them. They just appeared in his wardrobe, and he had never paid any mind to the _cost_.

He _disliked_ this feeling…second-guessing what he had always taken for granted. It made him…uncomfortable.

And the girl was entirely to blame, he thought, rather unfairly.

He pulled a tailored overcoat on, cinching a handsome leather belt around his waist, and for a moment, paused at the soft _drip…drip…drip_ of the shower as programming stalled while he remained inside the bathing chamber, ready to engage its usual cleaning protocols. Another cycle, more water used to clean what he had barely touched. Thoughtless. He frowned, thinking of the gallons of water used daily just to maintain even the officers’ quarters on-board the _Destroyer_.

Annoyed at himself, for lingering so long on inconsequential thoughts, Ren donned his mask. Ready. The moment they learned of her location, he would descend upon the girl with all the fury of the First Order behind him.

Oh, and they would also capture the droid, of course.

* * *

“ _Tell me you’re not hauling Rathtars_!”

“I’m hauling Rathtars,” Han said, striding down the loading-ramp, a metallic clanging echoing ominously through the freighter. The droid brought up the rear, beeping inquisitively up at Chewie, who measured his strides to ensure he didn’t trip up the kids, bowcaster casually in one hand.

The two kids chased at Han’s heels, their excitement and awe palpable - as was the boy’s dread: He, at least, had heard of Rathtars. Han wondered briefly if that meant he could appreciate just how difficult it was not only to hunt them, but to transport them across half the galaxy. Still, the pay would make it all worthwhile - more so, he and Chewie could split the profits evenly between them, what with the sad but predicable demise of his crew during the last, triumphant hunt.

He strode over to one of the service decks of the enormous freighter, heading directly for the nearest control panel. Screens lit up, showing him dimly-lit passages and corridors.

“What is a Rathar?” the girl asked, with her softly lilting accent, as the boy gazed beseechingly at Han, silently begging him to retract what he’d just heard. Han turned to the console, a host of images revealing the exterior of the hulking freighter as well as the interior, and revealing an approaching craft, sleek and expensive.

“Great, it’s a Guavian Death Gang,” Han grumbled, shaking his head. He’d made a deal with them, borrowing fifty thousand credits to partially fund this excursion. It had taken longer than expected. But he had the goods! Of course, _now_ they decided to pitch a fight, when he was days away from being paid. It was like Jabba all over again. When were these mooks gonna learn a little patience? “They must’ve tracked us from Nantoon.” Chewie groaned softly.

“I can’t help wonder,” said the girl, with her soft, lilting accent, her voice rich, with a subtly teasing undercurrent, “why they chose a name as on-the-nose as ‘Death Gang’.”

“Would you’ve gone for something more _poetic_?” Han asked, raising his eyebrows, and the girl’s eyes glinted with irony.

“Perhaps something a little more _mysterious_ ,” she answered, her voice purring. “Like the Mandalorians! _This is the way_.”

“I hate Mandalorians.”

“Oh. That business with Boba Fett?” said the girl, with a knowing little smile. Han grumbled; Chewie moaned, remembering the Cloud City. “What actually happened on Tatooine? I’ve only ever heard the Song of the Sarlacc.”

“And that’s all you’re ever gonna hear about it!” Han exclaimed, and the girl just smiled at his indignation, as if she saw right through it. Just like Leia always had.

“All I’m saying is, I’d be much more interested to hear about the creed of the Mandalorians - or the Weeper, or Black Pearl’s female-only pirate armada - have you ever heard - “

“Why are the Guavian Death Gang after you?” the boy asked urgently, interrupting; the girl fell silent to hear Han’s answer.

“I borrowed money off ‘em. Money that’d be repaid tenfold if they’d only had the patience. I got three Rathtars headed to King Prana. I’m expecting a bonus - and I’m not content to lose it because of the Guavian Death Gang.”

“ _Three_?” the boy all but squeaked.

“What is a Rathtar?” the girl repeated patiently, glancing from her friend to Han, eyebrows raised inquisitively. Beside her, the little droid echoed her question.

“You want the scientific description: They’re big, they’re ugly, and they’re dangerous,” Han told her.

“How did you even get them on-board?” the boy asked.

“Used to have a bigger crew,” Han said simply, and Chewie moaned. He’d liked playing chess with some of the others.

“Oh. They’re _that_ kind of dangerous,” said the girl, pursing her lips.

 _Do they eat metal_? BB-8 chirped anxiously.

“That kind of -! You ever hear of the Trillia Massacre?” the boy asked, and the girl shook her head. “ _Good_.”

“Rathtar?” she asked, and the boy nodded firmly. She pulled a face, then raised her eyes to Han’s face, fixing him with a look that reminded him so much of Leia, it shook him - equal parts irony, earnestness and resigned amusement. “So, are the Guavian Death Gang better or worse than a rampaging Rathtar?”

“I’ve got _no_ desire to find out,” said the boy firmly, and Han’s lips twitched, as he strode down a passageway that, like the rest of the lumbering freighter, had seen better days, crates of gear and supplies flung haphazardly around, splashes of paint the only indicators on rotting walls. “Why does this King Prana want three Rathtar, anyway? Doesn’t he know how dangerous they are?”

“I think that’s what makes them so appealing to His Royal Highness,” Han said unconcernedly. “Apparently he’s in some pissing contest with the regent of the Mol’leaj system: the regent doesn’t _have_ a Rathtar in _his_ personal menagerie.”

The girl raised her eyebrows expressively, saying, half to herself, “ _Rich people_.” That, and the damning little shake of her head were all she needed to express her views on the subject of King Prana. Han pulled a face, agreeing with her. What did he care - he’d get paid richly for it. He could send some of the credits to Leia, to help funding the ongoing fight. That’s what he told himself, every time he pulled off another ridiculous speculation like this, another hollow little adventure that kept him well and truly parted from his wife. And no matter how many times Chewie argued with him about it, Han refused to believe she wanted him back. How could she - every time she looked at him, she was reminded of their son. Of their _failure_.

He hadn’t been prepared for the chess-pieces, welded onto the console. Ben’s gift from Chewie on his seventh birthday. The only sentient creature in this galaxy or any other Chewie would ever lose a game of chess to.

He hadn’t been prepared for his son’s name, carved into the console. Or to hear the girl _say_ his son’s name, so brightly, with the subtlest hint of possessiveness, as if she had a claim on the boy who had left his name engraved in the console. She couldn’t know who Ben was, of course, but…maybe she’d found the name and the chess-pieces and…imagined. Made up her own Ben. Maybe she’d wondered who he was, and whether or not he regretted shoving the chess-pieces through the grate.

Han remembered when Ben had done that. Because it wasn’t just the chess-pieces he’d shoved out of sight: Ben had tried to stow away, too.

Han grimaced as his heart seized, pain flooding his body at the memory of his little boy, tears streaming down his face from those big brown eyes - his mother’s eyes - crying at the injustice of being _left behind_ , as Han went off to help deal with another crisis arising in the New Republic, rooting out the remnants of the Empire’s supporters.

His little boy had wanted to stay with his dad. Wanted to learn how to be the _best pilot in the galaxy_ , just like his _daddy_. Pain shot through him, and Han turned away, glad the kids were at his back as he took a moment to himself, his grief as fresh and devastating as the day they had learned Ben had fled the burning temple, leaving dead children in his wake, and an uncle who would never forgive himself.

 _As well he shouldn’t_ , Han thought grimly.

Who would his son be, Han thought, if they had never sent him away? If they had encouraged his desires to be a pilot, rather than giving into their dread about his burgeoning awareness of the Force, and sent him away to train as a Jedi.

He finally reached out, activating a hidden wall-control, a hatch opening in the floor with a soft hiss. He gestured for them to descend.

“Get below and say there until I say so,” Han said. “And don’t even think about taking the _Falcon_.”

“What about BB-8?” the girl asked, and the little droid wobbled slightly, tucked behind her leg, his little photoreceptor focused on Han.

“He stays with me until I get rid of the gang,” Han said, glancing down at the droid. “Then you can have him back and be on your way.” The girl frowned subtly, sighed, and finally nodded. The droid beeped at her.

“What about the Rathtars? Where are you keeping them?” the boy asked. His anxiousness was starting to get on Han’s nerves - only because when the kid was worrying about the Rathtars, Han had to acknowledge they were on the freighter, and no amount of money was worth one of them getting loose.

There was a loud thud behind them, followed by a sickening squelching noise, and the kids yelled out, startled, and the girl just avoided slipping through the hatch as she whirled, eyes wide on the window that showed the suction-tubed prehensile tongue of a Rathtar.

“There’s one,” Han said.

“What are you going to do?” asked the girl.

“Same thing I always do,” Han shrugged. “Talk my way out of it.”

Chewie rumbled at him.

“Yes I do!” Han protested. “Every time!”

Chewie mentioned Jabba - he knew Han hated it when he mentioned Jabba. He never liked to dwell too long on the months he’d lost, frozen in carbonite. Or the fact that his temporary blindness had robbed him of the sight of Leia in a getup Luke could only describe for him in scintillating detail - Leia had burned it, donning spare clothes from the _Falcon_ before Han’s eyesight returned.

“Now, don’t go getting into any trouble,” the girl warned the droid, drawing Han’s attention.

 _I don’t get into trouble! Trouble is created around me!_ the droid beeped mournfully.

“Well, I suppose that is more accurate,” the girl said, her lips twitching as she levered herself down into the hatch with an ease that Han faintly envied. He remembered, long ago, being able to fling himself into the smuggling compartments of the _Falcon_ with ease. Those days were far behind him. Chewie never aged: And most of the time, Han could forget that time had passed. Until he caught his reflection, and saw how worn he was, how grief had ground him down over the last ten years. If sorrow and grief had sharpened Leia’s focus on the fight, invigorating her, putting everything she had into it, then Han…well, he had never been as strong as his extraordinary wife.

He had hoped Ben would inherit her strength.

“C’mon, quick,” Han said, hurrying the boy along. They couldn’t be much older than Luke and Leia had been, the first time they had all met. Han was ten years older, but Luke had been bright-eyed, enthusiastic, and in over his head, rising to every challenge presented to him; Leia, already a devoted freedom-fighter, politically-minded, raised as a princess, had been fiery and wise and unshakeable. She’d taken over her own rescue! He still remembered her modest white gown that had still revealed her wonderful trim figure, and the way she coiled her hair over her ears. How she’d wielded that pistol, fearless, unflappable. And him, dazed, wondering how it was possible he’d never known such a woman could ever exist.

He closed the hatch on the kids, the BB droid beeping softly, photoreceptor on the handle as he cooed softly, hating to be parted from his friends.

* * *

Down in the service crawl-space, Finn and Rey gazed up through the slatted floors, Finn’s mind on the Rathtars, Rey’s, curious about the foreign Death Gang, wondering how one man and a Wookiee intended to handle them.

And how they were going to get BB-8 out of this mess.

She didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but persons who identified themselves as a _Death_ _Gang_ seemed like the sort who might be on the pay of a massive military organisation intent on subduing half the galaxy, and wiping out the rest.

Had Han Solo been wise to keep BB-8 with him? Had she been wise, to let him?

Han Solo. _The_ Han Solo. She could scarcely believe it. If not for the Wookiee, and his intimate appreciation of the freighter, Rey might have been more sceptical. As it was, well, there was a tired sort of earnestness to the older man…and a flare of anger sparking in his eyes at the mention of Luke Skywalker. Another legend she’d only ever heard stories about. She had always loved Lor San Tekka’s stories about Princess Leia, but she admired her more for being a General of the Rebellion and now the Resistance than for being born a princess of a planet destroyed by the Death Star. She used to daydream about Alderaan, before it had been destroyed, wondering whether it had been green and beautiful and peaceful. She had daydreamed about Princess Leia, who had become General Organa after Darth Vader had reduced her home planet to nothing more than stardust drifting through the cosmos…so much grief, such devastation…how had she had the strength to go on? Rey admired the revolutionary as _tough_. Not just physically, but mentally _strong_. Lor San Tekka’s stories held Rey quite in awe.

And Han Solo…a man after her own heart. Roguish, somewhat of a con-artist, a fighter - a _survivor_. Quick-thinking, earnest and full of heart, if the stories were all true. His behaviour so far was good indication Lor San Tekka’s stories hadn’t been too embellished.

And they were now embroiled in one of Han Solo’s legendary smuggling ventures, whether or not they had intended to.

She couldn’t help feel there was a reason Han Solo had caught up to them.

If Lor San Tekka had been here, or Chirrut, they would both have said the Force had willed it. The Force was in all things, and for all things the Force had a purpose, a reason.

For whatever reason, the Force had brought Rey and BB-8 together. It had brought Finn to Niima Outpost. It had drawn them together, and crossed their path with that of Han Solo, now doing what all the stories said he did best: Talk his way into more trouble.

The Guavian Death Gang lingered at one end of the corridor, blasters humming softly, one man, their leader, stood between what looked like his armoured henchmen, his accent thick as he accused Han Solo of swindling him of fifty-thousand. That wasn’t the worst of it. More footsteps; new voices.

Han Solo and the Wookiee - and BB-8 - were now trapped between the Guavian Death Gang and another group of men, who spoke no Basic but an alien language that sounded accusatory and angry - or perhaps that was just their leader’s ordinary tone.

“This is bad,” Finn breathed, and Rey nodded her agreement, her hands and knees smarting as the grates beneath them cut into her skin, the pressure making her grimace. She hated grating. “Can you see them?”

“Only their blasters,” Rey breathed.

“ _That BB unit_ ,” said the thickly-accented Guavian Death Gang member, and Rey strained to hear, breath catching in her throat, as she and Finn shuffled along the crawl-space, trying to assess the newcomers - Kanjiklub, from what the Guavian Death Gang leader had been saying. They had set Han up. “ _The First Order is looking for one just like it… And two fugitives_.”

They froze. Rey’s lips parted, and she turned an indignant look on Finn as she mouthed, “ _Fugitive_?!”

“First I’ve heard of it,” Han Solo said nonchalantly. One of the aliens at the other end of the corridor muttered an order, as did the heavily accented man, and footsteps echoed off the grating above them. Barely daring to breathe, they exchanged a glance, and changed direction, shuffling back the way they had come. The thing about service crawl-space was the passages were all connected, and rarely blocked off, to ensure repairs and maintenance could be carried out: So it was likely Rey could prise a few panels off the walls and they could scurry around in the underbelly of the ship to find a way back to the _Falcon_. She had spent her childhood in between panelling, wreaking havoc with and repairing essential wiring. She had explored Destroyers in a way no scavenger ever did, because they were too focused on the parts, not the whole it created: She had been curious about the way things had been built. And she had explored.

A Destroyer was no different to a freighter, once the arsenal was removed. Behind the wall panels, the components and tech - the guts and innards of the ship - were all the same.

“Wait, one moment!” Rey breathed, and Finn stopped, staring at her, as she approached the flow panel, exposed to the service crawl-space for the benefit of mechanics who had to make repairs. “I can close the blast doors, trap both gangs.”

“What about Han Solo, the Wookiee?”

“I can carve my way through the belly of any ship,” Rey said, with confidence, because she had before, many times. How else would she consistently find the best component parts, except by scavenging where no-one else dared go? How else could she find out how the _Destroyers_ truly _worked_? Her self-preservation had always warred with her curiosity, and Unkar Plutt’s training early in her life, sending her into impossibly small service shafts she should have died in, behind panels amid live wires and burning pipes.

She gazed at the intricate flowtronics, a wondrous system designed to be set and reset as easily as possible, even without tools, quickly working it out in her head.

“So, we just pull these - “

“Wait, no - !”

Finn seized two of the heavy plugs, and pulled.

Something shuddered. Rey raised her eyes to the ceiling of the crawl-space, to the figures moving and casting shadows above them as they argued, holding her breath.

Nothing.

She breathed out slowly, relief flooding her. She gave Finn a dark look: He winced apologetically, setting the plugs down, resting his palms on his knees, a silent gesture that he would touch nothing else. Rey set to work on the flowtronics, marvelling that such a desperately abused freighter could have such exquisite internal workings.

Then they heard it. The roars, and the bone-chilling screeches of freed Rathtars echoing through the rusty corridors.

Above their heads, Han Solo muttered, “ _I’ve got a bad feeling about this_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it was supposed to create tension, but come on, Rey’s supposed to know what she’s doing! That’s the whole point - Han Solo offers her a job because she does know what she’s doing, so this scene in the film, releasing the Rathtars accidentally because of rewiring the wrong thing, doesn’t quite mesh. But Finn wasn’t a trained mechanic. He’s enthusiastic, but untrained in anything but basic repairs.


	6. A Rampage of Rathtars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’ve established in previous chapters that Rey is aware of the Force and has had a lot of coaching over the years, though informal of course - this chapter is Rey’s first huge test of all she’s learned.
> 
> I’ve just finished reading the novelisation of The Rise of Skywalker and there’s something odd: It is implied that Rey’s father was a perfect genetic clone of Palpatine who was not Force-sensitive, so was left to further the bloodline ‘naturally’. So, technically Rey would actually biologically be Palpatine’s daughter. Anyway, I’m not pursuing that plotline for Rey, so it doesn’t matter, I just found it interesting!

**I Am Yours, You Are Mine**

_06_

_A Rampage of Rathtars_

* * *

“About those Rathtars. Will they be _quick_ deaths?” Rey asked, her voice hushed, as she caught Finn’s eye. With a grimace, they turned their gaze upwards, as the gang leaders barked orders. She heard BB-8’s soft beep of despair.

“Not nearly as quick and painless as execution by blaster on a First Order base,” Finn muttered.

“You almost sound _fond_ ,” Rey remarked.

“Who wants it to be _lingering_?” Finn muttered. “Gimme a quick, clean death any day.” She pulled a face; she’d never really thought about it. But then, she wasn’t a trained Stormtrooper: She hadn’t been raised as fodder, sent into hostile territories expecting to be shot at the moment the loading-ramp descended. If she’d ever thought about it, Rey had hoped to just not wake up one morning, to slip seamlessly away without ever realising it, no pain, no worry, no regret for all the things she had wanted to do and never been brave enough to even attempt, wasting her life in the deserts of Jakku, waiting for people who would never come for her - because how could they know she was there, waiting, all this time…

It was all different now. If the Rathtars didn’t get her, a blast from a Guavian Death Gang or a Kanjiklub member might.

“Well, I’ve no intention of dying today,” she breathed.

“Who does?” Finn muttered, and she shot him a look, getting to work on the intricate flowtronics. There was no undoing what Finn had done, in his haste and his fright, but Rey thought she could do her utmost to help out Han Solo and the Wookiee, isolating them from at least one of the gangs. She reached for the last fuse, as the heavily accented man commanded his men to kill Han Solo, and take the droid…she almost connected it - Finn glanced agitatedly between her and the fuses, even reaching to do it himself when he saw her pause, but Rey had frowned softly, closing her eyes…she heard the whisper, and opened herself up to it…

She felt Finn’s presence beside her, vibrant, pulsating with light that ebbed and flowed through and around him, rich and earnest and good; she tasted his dread, but also his excitement, his relief - that he wasn’t… _alone_. His embarrassment, at yanking out the fuses. And his determination - to get them all through this in one piece in spite of _his_ mistake. The intensity of his presence made her lips part, reaching out to him through the Force, and for a second, she allowed herself the indulgence. It felt _familiar_ …the _Force_ … It was in all things, yes, but _Finn_ …

Life was all around them, even on this hulking, decrepit freighter, and she felt the presence of the Rathtars - hungry, always hungry, furious at being confined, not malevolent but driven by the purest basic instinct to _feed_ … She felt one presence closer than the others, could sense it communicating with the other two, and the men above them never knew what was happening before the first was caught by prehensile tentacles lined with gaping suckers oozing pus, yells of terror and pain cut short as things landed heavily on the grating with nauseating wet squelches, and Rey flinched as something hot splashed her face.

Reaching up, her fingertips came away from her cheek bloody.

She exchanged a look with Finn.

A cacophony of blaster shots mingled with the wet roars and hissing shrieks of the Rathtars, footsteps thundering on the grating as the men ran, and rallied, and attacked their attackers; intending to hunt Han Solo, they had suddenly found themselves the prey.

Rey closed her eyes, ignoring the trickle of blood on her face, the wetness on her fingertips, the screams of the men above and the shrieks of the Rathtars, and reached out for them - for Han Solo and the Wookiee. She found them! And connected the last fuses.

With a hiss and a schnick of pressure, doors slid shut, sealing one Rathtar beyond with Kanjiklub to play with. She felt the conflict, tasted the men’s terror coating her tongue, and she winced in sympathy, realising that she had sentenced them to die - but they had come to this ship intending to murder… Did anyone deserve a death like this? For a second, she shivered in the crawl-space, panting, and clamped her hands over her ears. Because the sound of bodies being ripped apart was too much, too _real_. The men’s terror was tangible, their grief and regret, anger, relief, all mingling in a great tide of emotion that swept over her, making her shiver and grimace with compassion for their deaths. She felt Finn’s concern through the Force before he reached for her, resting a hand on her back, his expression grim.

 _Fear tempered by calm forges a deadly weapon_ , she heard Chirrut murmur in her ear, during one of their thousands of morning training sessions. She took several deep breaths, focusing herself, willing herself to embrace gentler emotions, honing her horror and compassion over the men’s gruesome deaths into something tangible and strong, fierce, and good - calm…and confident. Not arrogant but settled, _ready_.

She could do this.

Rey focused on the Rathtar nearest them. She had separated it from Han Solo and the Wookiee, turning it against the Kanjiklub: Now, she reached for another set of fuses, rewiring them - to block all exits. The Rathtar was trapped in an intersection of corridor, with its last meal. Blood dripped down through the floor, but she refused to lose her focus. She found the other two Rathtars, reaching out with tendrils of the Force, tasting the emotions of the men engaged in battling them - a life was snuffed out, and she felt its essence amalgamate with everything around it, startling her with how…wondrous it was… She felt the Rathtar’s annoyance as blasters continued to pepper the light-sensitive pustules on its body, the men hoping to find some weakness in the beast’s impenetrable hide.

The corridor above them was empty: Rey scuttled to the hatch, Finn close behind her, and she kept tabs on the Rathtars and the surviving men, and Han Solo and the Wookiee, as Finn helped lever her out of the hatch. Glancing around the corridor, she fought back a wave of nausea at the sight of several bodies, ripped apart, blood oozing, flesh torn, bones shattered, chest cavities ruptured open, guts spilled everywhere, the stench of copper overwhelming, and shook away the dizziness that accompanied the horror.

“You wanted blasters,” she breathed, and Finn’s face turned ashen as he followed her gaze. But he did scoop up a couple of blasters from the debris, relatively clean. He offered one to her. She shook her head. “Never used one.”

“What do we do now?”

“We get off this freighter,” Rey panted, as Finn hurriedly primed the blasters without even looking at them: He had been trained, after all - he could probably reassemble a blaster in his sleep.

“Han said not to take the _Falcon_ ,” he breathed.

“They’re headed right for it,” Rey said, touching on the Force, finding Han Solo and the Wookiee. “Come on.”

Quietly, hearts in their mouths, they retraced their steps, back through the service bay, body-parts littering the corridor, blood and gore splashed over the walls, the scent of copper and terror redolent in the air, echoing with the screams of the dying and the roaring shrieks of the Rathtars in pursuit of more prey.

They yelped, startled, as blaster shots fired, sparks and debris exploding a few feet from them; Rey ducked and covered her head with her hands. Finn, highly-trained in combat, fired back without hesitation, hitting his mark with absurd accuracy for a Stormtrooper - especially considering he wasn’t looking: He had his eyes on Rey, and they were wide.

“You hit?”

She shook her head. She had been shot at before, yes… But after narrowly evading a bomb-blast in Niima barely an hour ago, _and_ surviving a sky-battle with _TIE_ _Starfighters_ …it was - rather _overwhelming_.

“This was not a day I’ve ever imagined I’d be having,” she admitted shakily, and Finn nodded, dark eyes scanning their surroundings as Rey unfurled from her crouched position. He shot off a couple more blasts, a man screaming in pain - as shrieking roars echoed from their right, and something exploded to their left, Han Solo and the Wookiee appearing in a burst of fire and sparks, Han Solo wielding the bowcaster as the Wookiee roared, clutching his arm. Rey could taste his pain: he was injured, a blaster shot burning through his skin, singeing his long matted fur.

She could feel the remaining Guavian Death Gang’s fear, their anger at being set up, if that was how they wanted to look at it - the target of their rage was Han Solo, and as he ran into the hangar, shots fired, ricocheting off equipment, crates and small craft in various stages of disrepair. Rey felt out, and touched the Rathtars, two of them communicating between themselves, working as a team without their third, _hunting_. She could hear the dull thunks and resounding bangs from the trapped Rathtar, screaming to the others. The two free Rathtar had turned their attention to their prey, tumbling easily through the labyrinthine corridors, shooting out their long prehensile tentacles, their hollow tongues, their radial mouths lined with razor-sharp teeth open, washed red with blood and gristle - blaster shots cut across the hangar, drawing one Rathtar’s attention, and it careened away toward the men shooting - they screamed, and ran, and the Rathtar gave chase.

Breathing deeply, forcing herself to embrace calm, Rey reached out, touching the Force; it swept through her, gentle and restful, and she raised her hand, somehow anticipating the blast of energy aimed at them by the one of the Guavian Death Gang men, overlooking them from the service bay with his leader.

She heard Finn suck in a breath, and the fiery pulse of lethal light remained suspended in mid-air, inches from her head, throbbing with intensity, and power. She winced, starting to tire, but held on, embracing the power of it, as a part of herself, making it her own…

The sole Rathtar in the hangar gave its screeching roar, and the Guavian Death Gang leader laughed from up high as it descended upon her and Finn.

Rey reached out, fear tempered by calm…reached out, touched the energy flowing through the Rathtar…became one with the creature, as she was with the blast of pure destructive energy, out of the corner of her ear listening to the remaining Guavian Death Gang members clattering down the steps, eager to use their deaths as cover for escape back to their own vessel…

The Rathtar slowed…stilled…waited.

She released the blaster shot, redirecting it: Shot the control panel, activating the door. Sealing all but the leader of the Guavian Death Gang inside the hangar with them.

Behind her, Han Solo was bellowing at Finn, the Wookiee roaring and moaning, and she heard the faint, terrified bleeps and coos of BB-8, watching her, calling to her.

“ _Rey_ ,” Finn said urgently, his voice filtering through the power of the Force. Without him even realising it, he had connected with the Force, with _her_ …she smiled to herself, feeling his presence, gentle in her mind… _Rey_ …

She opened her eyes. Saw the Rathtar gaping back at her, poised. The Guavian Death Gang raising their weapons. As Han Solo bellowed at Finn to get up the loading-ramp, he sent off a few shots with his own pistol, and the Death Gang opened fire.

Not a single shot hit its mark.

Because Rey had released the Rathtar. Unleashed it on the Death Gang.

Han lowered his pistol, his jaw dropping, as the Rathtar turned and descended upon the Guavian Death Gang with unbridled fury. No more shots were fired; the Rathtar tore the men limb from limb.

The kid dropped like a stone.

Glad he wasn’t quite as old as he often felt, Han grabbed her before she could collapse to the floor. Half-dragging, half-carrying her, Han barked orders at Chewie, who roared and moaned - and the Rathtar paused. It had run out of prey to dismember.

The monster had slipped its leash when the kid collapsed.

The boy with the infallible aim punched the panel controlling the landing-ramp as soon as Han stepped on it, dragging the girl - sealing them inside, safe from the Rathtar. The ship rocked with impact as the Rathtar flung itself at them, desperate to get at its prey.

“Is she hit?” the kid asked, as Han let the girl slip onto the floor of the cargo-hold, unconscious. He suddenly felt every year of his age. He was used to getting into scraps, of course - but he wasn’t as young as he used to be. He thought he’d hurt something in his back, and shook the thought off as absurd. He wasn’t _that_ old.

“She’s fine,” Han groaned, and strode through the passages of the _Falcon_ once more, reaching the cockpit where Chewie was preparing them for take-off, moaning about a fuel-pump.

“ _Who installed a fuel-pump_?!” he moaned irritably, groaning as he settled into the pilot’s seat, holstering his pistol, and his eyes briefly landed on the chess-pieces welded in place as he helped Chewie, who was preparing them for flight in spite of his injury.

Chewie moaned.

“Yeah, I saw it,” Han muttered, utterly shaken. The girl had not only dodged but _held_ and then _deflected_ a shot of pure plasma with a wave of her hand, and _controlled_ a rampaging Rathtar, unleashing it upon the Guavian Death Gang.

He hadn’t seen power like that since…

“ _Ben_ ,” Chewie moaned mournfully.

“You’re hurt,” Han observed, as Chewie growled softly, reaching with his injured arm to prime the fuel-pump. Han could smell his burning flesh and fur.

He heard a yell of pain echo down the corridor, and shouted back. “Kid? Everything alright back there?”

Rey woke with a jolt, as if struck by a bolt of plasma - a face loomed over her, utterly too close, a large hand shaking her roughly.

Out of instinct, she struck out, whipping her head forward, her forehead connecting with the person’s nose. He yelled.

“ _That’s the second bloody nose you’ve given me today_!”

“ _Finn_?!” She blinked through her utter exhaustion, dazed by the hit, and the dark, earnest face of Finn swam into view. And his nose was bloody, his fingers dripping with blood as he clamped them over his nose and mouth. She grimaced. “I’m sorry.” She blinked, glanced around. Realised they were inside the cargo-hold of the _Falcon_. The landing-ramp was closed: Something was flinging itself against the ship, making it shudder. The engines were live. “Where’s BB-8?”

The little droid beeped happily, zooming over, cooing at her.

Panting, dizzy, Rey blinked, trying to focus on Finn’s dark face. “Are you alright? Is everyone on-board?”

“Han’s in the cockpit; I think the Wookiee’s hurt,” Finn said, nodding. He stared at her, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing. “How did you - ?”

Rey stumbled to the cockpit, wincing at the scent of burning flesh and fur, and found Han Solo in the pilot’s seat, the Wookiee beside him, hollering with pain. There was a massive wet _thwump_ , Rey’s reaction delayed as the others yelled, Han Solo punching several buttons, as the Rathtar launched itself at the ship, radial mouth covering the window.

“You kids better buckle up - we’re getting out of here at lightspeed.”

“From the hangar?! Is that even possible?”

“I never ask that question ‘til after I’ve done it,” Han remarked.

“Your friend’s hurt,” Rey observed.

“We’ll all be a lot worse if I can’t get the Falcon - come on, baby, work with me - _good girl_!” Han hollered delightedly, and Rey and Finn were both thrown against the wall of the cockpit as the ship jumped into lightspeed _from the hangar_!!

The Rathtar was reduced to smears on the window.

“You did it!” Rey breathed, stunned. She would never have even thought of launching at lightspeed from the hangar!

Unconventional solutions to absurd problems!

“Coolant’s leaking,” Han muttered.

“Transfer auxiliary power to the secondary tank,” Rey said, and the Wookiee murmured appreciatively even as a whimper of pain rose in his throat.

“Good thing you stripped the compressor, or there’d be pieces of us scattered in three different systems! Anything else I need to know about your buddy Unkar Plutt’s modifications to the _Falcon_?” Han asked, glancing over his shoulder at Rey, who found her feet rather unsteadily, her focus drawn again and again to the Wookiee. The stench of burned flesh and fur overwhelmed the smell of overheating tech as the _Millennium Falcon_ struggled, after years of inactivity.

“Not that I can recall,” Rey said softly, her vision dizzy. She breathed through the nausea roiling in her stomach, exhaustion weighing on her. She’d never channelled the Force to control something so large, and the Rathtar’s instincts had been fighting her connection, tethering its will to her. And the plasma blast… She had acted on instinct, drawing on everything Chirrut had taught her without even consciously doing it. But it had cost her. Wielding the Force in such a way always strained her; she thought of it like a muscle. The more she used it, the stronger her control got, the less it taxed her.

Rey stared at the wound on the Wookiee’s arm, barely able to focus - that should have been her head, she thought, reflecting on the plasma blast she had held and deflected. It looked angry, almost like lava in the way the plasma was still eating away at the Wookiee’s flesh, and, overwhelmed by compassion, Rey reached out, touching his lower-arm. The Wookiee roared, agitated, but Rey closed her eyes, drawing on that calm, that focus, that connectedness, and, instead of taking…she _gave_ … She drew on the deaths and the plasma blasts and even the live commander of the Guavian Death Gang, she gave of herself, taking from Finn and Han Solo, every living thing around them, and _gave_ to the Wookiee.

Finn gaped, as the Wookiee’s arm healed. It looked like he had never even been hit by the blaster.

Rey swayed, unsteady on her feet.

When she collapsed, the Wookiee caught her.

He rumbled softly at Han, who stared at the unconscious girl, shaken to his core.

“Chewie…put her in the cabin,” he said softly, aware that his hand was shaking as he reached for several more buttons and switches on the console. It was too much.

The _Falcon_ , the chess-pieces, the droid with a map to Luke, and this girl…this girl who wielded the Force...

The boy stepped out of the way, blinking as if dazed; blood dripped from his nose, and as Chewie disappeared with the girl he sank into the co-pilot’s chair, as if he couldn’t support his own weight anymore. They sat in silence for a moment.

“You okay, kid?” he asked gently, aware he didn’t know the boy’s name, hadn’t cared to know.

The boy blinked dazedly. “I didn’t think anyone else could do that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…what she did…with the plasma blast… I’ve only seen one person ever be able to anything like that. I thought…I thought he was the only one…”

“What’re you talking about?” Han frowned.

The boy blinked at him. “Kylo Ren.”

Han jolted in his seat, swinging his head to stare at the boy. He looked young, and simultaneously startled and awed. He turned to Han, and seemed to make a decision.

“I’m - I was a Stormtrooper. FN-2187,” said the boy, and there was something like pride and resolve and brimming confidence, owning his past. He added, “I’m Finn, now. I defected. But before I did, I was part of the unit despatched as escort to Kylo Ren when he descended to Jakku in pursuit of a Resistance pilot the First Order had tracked. He’d found a map to Luke Skywalker, some…mage in a sacred village in the desert. When the old man was killed, the pilot appeared out of nowhere and shot at Kylo Ren - he stopped the plasma blast in mid-air…held it, all the time they subdued the pilot. He didn’t let the plasma shot go ‘til he returned to his _TIE Whisper_.”

Han stared at him, dread uncoiling in the pit of his stomach. _Kylo Ren_.

All his son had been reduced to. Rumours of a rising terror. Whispers of a _mask_. His son was lost.

There was a lot the boy had just told him - about Han’s son; about the boy himself; and alluding to the girl. He reached out, flicking more switches, pressing another button. He sighed heavily, shaking his head. He was in the thick of it now.

“You wanna start from the beginning, kid?” he asked, settling into his seat. It felt good to be in the Falcon’s cockpit again, his _home_ , even if the chess-pieces gazed at him, a reminder.

The kid - Finn - told his story. A Stormtrooper, he had been deployed on his first assignment as muscle for Kylo Ren in his search for a man named Lor San Tekka, who held the key to Luke Skywalker’s location. After Tekka’s execution, the Resistance pilot Poe Dameron had been taken captive by Kylo Ren, and that was how _FN-2187_ died: Freeing the pilot, making a bid for freedom in a stolen TIE Fighter right out of the hangar of a First Order _Destroyer_.

The Resistance pilot - Han recognised the name Dameron, thought he must be the son of Kes Dameron and Shara Bey, two of his oldest friends from the old days - had given FN-2187 his name, Finn. It was his last act before his death, after blowing a few holes in the _Destroyer_ ’s cannons and passing on the information about the droid, a BB unit containing a map to the location of Luke Skywalker. Leia’s last hope.

The kid had found himself in the middle of the Jakkuvian desert with no friends, no food, no water, no _nothing_ \- and no hope of gaining any, after he followed a gut-instinct to Niima Outpost. He’d been sharing a drink with a happabore when he heard the ruckus, saw the girl soundly thrashing two thugs when they’d tried to steal a unique white-and-orange droid accompanying her.

She’d given Finn a bloody nose for the Resistance pilot’s jacket he wore - Poe’s, Finn told him, all that was left of him after the crash - and that was when the Stormtroopers had arrived, and started shooting at them - at him, the deserter, at the droid, wanted for the information he carried, and the girl, purely because she had been seen with them.

And that was how they had come to steal the _Millennium Falcon_ : it was the only way to outrun the _TIE Starfighters_ that appeared screaming over the Outpost.

Finn was no trained gunner but he had had a crash-course in Poe Dameron’s stolen _TIE Fighter_ during their bid for escape: He had made do, tucking himself into the _Falcon’s_ gunnery, while Rey had single-handedly piloted the _Falcon_ through a graveyard of decaying Imperial warships pockmarking the Jakkuvian desert, at one point careening through the guts of a wrecked _Destroyer_ in a manoeuvre that, even with Finn’s poor description, sounded pretty outstanding for a novice pilot with a _TIE Starfighter_ on her tail. They’d shaken the _TIE Starfighters_ and left the atmosphere of Jakku. Rey had had to repair the motivator, Han heard with consternation, and had just removed the compressor on the ignition-line when Han had locked onto the _Falcon_ and brought them aboard the _Eravana_.

Han knew everything thereafter, except that it had been Finn to accidentally unleash the Rathtars, and the girl who’d reworked the fuses to trap both Rathtars and gangs, giving Han, Chewie and the droid a chance to escape.

Finn had no idea who Rey was: They had met barely hours ago. She had told him she was “just Rey”. An expert scavenger, a talented mechanic, and an innovative pilot whose training left something to be desired, but just a girl. Just a girl scratching a living out in the desert. Nothing special, her tone had implied, when Finn had asked her name, and _what_ she was.

“She’s Force-sensitive,” Han sighed. He knew a little about such things, being married to one trained Jedi who’d chosen another way of life, father to another, now waging a war of terror against everything his mother had worked so hard to create and protect… “If she’d been born in another time, the Jedi Order would’ve gathered her up and shoved her into training as a padawan - a Jedi apprentice.”

If he sounded bitter, Han was.

They’d lost their little boy the moment they agreed to let Luke take him, train him in the ways of the Force.

He’d been too young. Too volatile, too powerful to go untrained - but too young to be separated from his parents. He should’ve put his foot down - should’ve held his ground… Should’ve fought for his kid, before it was too late.

Han hadn’t seen his son in ten years.

“The Jedi…?” the boy murmured, and Han nodded. He was also done talking about the Jedi. He set his course, his better instincts warring with the yearning in the pit of his stomach…hearing his son’s new moniker, the tales of his nefarious exploits, seeing the girl wielding the Force as Ben had once done… And the call…the call _home_. The call to _Leia_.

One thing he knew: It should have been Leia who taught Ben in the ways of the Force.

Her experience as a freedom-fighter, her time in the Senate, one of too few survivors of the eradication of Alderaan, highly educated, a princess who inspired hope, a master in the ways of the Force…experience had made Leia wise. She was a leader. The kind of person who _inspired_ , leading from the front: She was a gentle voice of authority, a figure to inspire awe and respect she had earned over decades, engaging and playful, clever and brave, and above all things just, adaptable and fierce.

And Han knew…all their son had ever wanted was his parents’ attention, their love. To know they put him above all things, loved _him_ , in spite of his struggles with the Dark. That they weren’t afraid of him, but rather afraid _for_ him…

They’d been too late.

The girl, Rey, couldn’t be much older than Ben had been when they lost him.

Han refused to make the same mistakes.

If he had to find his way to the Resistance base and hash out an argument with his wife in front of the entire Resistance, he would ensure this Rey learned from the best. His wife. His Leia. The most extraordinary person he had ever met. Mother to the single greatest thing Han had ever done: Their son. They shared in their grief, and yet…he had run from it, while Leia had sought to eradicate what had manipulated their son from them. Destroy Snoke: Free Ben.

He wished it was that simple. Leia believed it was.

 _It all comes down to his choice_ , she had insisted, the last time they had spoken. His choice. If not for Vader’s _choice_ , Luke would have died, and with him, the Rebellion. The Emperor would still hold dominion over the galaxy. Light or Dark, they all had their _choices_.

Leia was desperate for any way to help Ben see that.

To help him see his way through the Dark, back to them.

She insisted that something just needed to help light his way.

“You should go get some rest, kid,” Han sighed. It was a dismissal, but a kind one.

The kid, sensing he’d get nothing more out of Han, rose from the co-pilot’s chair and disappeared into the belly of the _Falcon_. Chewie returned a few moments later, murmuring; he kept gazing at his arm, but he knew Han too well to press. Not when he’d been listening to Finn’s story from the lounge, after he’d tucked the girl into the cabin. Finally, Chewie murmured softly.

“I know,” Han sighed. “I won’t make the same mistake again.”

* * *

“You have an update, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, the droid was last spotted upon a freighter, the _Eravana_ , chartered to a…to Han Solo, sir. It appears he was hauling Rathtars for King Prana when he locked on to the _Millennium Falcon_.”

“Hauling Rathtars,” Kylo Ren said, his voice dripping with disdain. He frowned. “Han Solo sent this transmission of information?”

“No, sir. It appears the Gauvian Death Gang and Kanjiklub were both seeking recompense from Han Solo for their investment, sir,” Lieutenant Mitaka said. “When they alighted the _Eravana_ , the Rathtars were inexplicably released from their confinement.”

“A fitting end to the Guavian Death Gang and Kanjiklub,” Ren said softly, his voice rich with irony

“There was one survivor, sir, Bala-Tik of the Guavian Death Gang, who craves an audience and his reward,” Lieutenant Mitaka said regretfully.

“Unless he has the droid, pay him his money and send him on his way,” Kylo Ren ordered distractedly.

“He doesn’t, sir, however - “

“However?” Ren prompted.

“Sir, he has information on the scavenger. Surveillance footage from the hangar of the _Eravana_ that must be seen to be believed, according to Bala-Tik,” Lieutenant Mitaka said, with a small sigh.

“You’ve viewed this footage?” Ren asked, and the Lieutenant nodded. Ren frowned behind his mask, touching on the Force, reaching out. He felt Mitaka’s dread at his proximity to Ren, but also, his…wonder? Anticipation, at Ren’s reaction, his own awe at what he had seen in the footage. His excitement was palpable.

“Very well,” Ren sighed. “This may yet compensate for the continued failure to capture a single droid.”

The Guavian Death Gang member was grubby and grated Ren’s nerves just looking at him. His tone was aggressive and assumptive; he was used to being the bully. Ren reminded him of his place with a simple gesture: When the male started to speak, Ren exerted just enough pressure through the Force to silence him, the man’s wide-set eyes bugging out as he wretched and blinked, confused.

The Lieutenant handed over the memory drive, already inserted into a screen, the relevant file accessed.

There she was. The girl. The _scavenger_.

Hux bristled and fidgeted beside Ren, eager to see the screen, he knew, but lacking the seniority to demand it of Ren; it gave Ren great pleasure to deny him, fuelling Hux’s resentment - putting the ambitious, obsequious General in his place as much as he had the Guavian Death Gang leader. Small, obsequious, _mean_ , he was little more than a wrathful rat, gnawing at everyone’s last nerve, ambitious but not inspiring.

Ren ignored him, and watched as the decrepit hangar of an old freighter filled with plasma blasts, an older man, a Wookiee and the droid running toward the recognisable ship _Millennium Falcon_ amid the blasts, as eerie shrieking howls reverberated off the walls, mingling with the sickening sound of bodies being torn apart. Two youths appeared, one male, one female - FN-2187 and the scavenger - ducking plasma blasts, headed for the _Falcon_. The traitor raised his blaster without looking, catching a Guavian Death Gang member square in the chest: a Rathtar careened into the hangar, and the Guavian Death Gang took opportunity to use the boy and girl as a distraction to cover their escape. One shot at the girl.

Calm, almost ethereal in the midst of chaos, the girl raised her palm, catching a plasma blast in mid-air. It hovered, fierce with destructive potential. The Rathtar roared, but slowed, seemed to be waiting for something…

The girl redirected the plasma blast, separating the Death Gang members from their leader by shooting the controls to the hangar doors, sealing them inside - and the Rathtar turned on them. Tore them limb from limb, as the girl dropped like a stone - into Han Solo’s arms. He half-carried, half-dragged her to the loading-ramp of the _Millennium Falcon_ as it rose, sealing them safely away from the Rathtar now free of the girl’s influence.

The _Millennium Falcon_ launched from the hangar _at lightspeed_.

Impossible. _Improbable_.

Ren felt a flicker of something…amusement. Wonder. Pride. That was his _father_.

He was glad of the mask, concealing his guilty grimace - such thoughts were a poison, drawing him to the Light. He had worked hard to eradicate them as his master had taught him, and yet…

“Pay the man his reward,” Ren said to the Lieutenant. He turned to the man. “It should aid in the recruitment of new Death Gang members. I would not suggest toying with Rathtars in future. Or entrusting your money to Han Solo.”

“A mistake I won’t make again,” Bala-Tik confirmed angrily, though Ren couldn’t help feeling the gang leader had gotten exactly what he deserved. Hauling Rathtars, for the entertainment of some half-witted king. Whoever would have believed such a venture would be profitable? How hard had his father had to work to convince not one but two crime consortiums to part with their money? And…wasn’t it like Jabba the Hutt all over again? Han Solo had been _days_ away from delivering the goods and getting paid. A royal commission! The Gang would have received their money - for all his father was a swindler and a smuggler, he always had the best intentions of repaying what he had borrowed.

Ren kept hold of the screen and its surveillance footage, blatantly ignoring General Hux as he swept out of the hangar, returning to his own chambers to reflect. He replayed the footage several times as he ate a meal set out by a hospitality droid, not tasting a single mouthful. It had been a long time since he had paid attention to what he was eating - a long time since he had _enjoyed_ eating.

He focused on the screen, replaying the footage again and again. Watching the girl.

Proof, if he had needed any…the girl was sensitive with the Force - _powerful_ with it. It had taken years of meditation for Ren himself to be able to hold plasma blasts in mid-air. Non-sentient creatures were easier to control than humans and aliens, dominated as they were by instinct, but the Rathtar was a huge creature.

With a flicker of unease, Ren winced as the girl dropped into his father’s arms.

She would be physically drained from that exertion.

Han Solo had seen her demonstration of power, of the Force. Ren frowned, replaying the footage again. He saw the older man’s jaw drop as the girl snared the plasma blast, watched him lower his pistol in quiet awe, his expression tinged with dread and grief as he watched the girl silently communicating with the Rathtar.

Revisiting his past, perhaps?

Regretting his choices?

Dreading the power contained in that delicate girl?

Ren felt a flicker of unease. What would Han Solo do with her?

Take her to Skywalker?

He had the droid. A girl sensitive to the Force. Ren knew how capable both Solo and the Wookiee were.

If they reached Skywalker…all the Supreme Leader had warned against would transpire. The Jedi would rise once more. All they had worked for would be destroyed.

 _Balance would be restored_ , whispered a voice, and Ren flinched against the traitorous thought, the yearning in the pit of his stomach to obliterate the First Order.

The First Order knew only how to destroy. To sow discord, infecting worlds with oozing sores as resources were stripped, leaving a legacy of grief, inspiring hate and fear and rebellion.

He rose, and destroyed everything in reach, in a fit of rage and confusion, pain rippling through him as he remembered the quiet awe and dread on his father’s face and the way he had caught the girl before she dropped in spite of his grim expression, not just accepting but _embracing_ her - he reached for his lightsaber, reducing the table to metal splinters, desperate to obliterate his treasonous thoughts before the Supreme Leader could taste a whisper of it through the Force.

Panting, he staggered to a low bench, tucking his helmet on, his gloves - putting himself back together. Kylo Ren. He sat and stared at the plinth, where his grandfather’s mask rested in pride of place.

“ _Forgive me_ ,” he begged softly, feeling too large inside his own body as his blood rushed and his mind spun. “I feel it again…the call to the Light. Supreme Leader senses it. Show me again the power of the Darkness. And I will let nothing stand in our way. _Show me_. Grandfather… And I will finish what you started.”

He felt nothing. Saw _nothing_. Nothing but the inside of his mask, and Han Solo, reaching for the girl who had displayed such awing power, catching her before she could fall, before she could be hurt. In spite of her power; in spite of his dread, his fear of what she could do.

In spite of his fear of the monster his son had become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really enjoying writing Kylo Ren/Ben’s inner conflict. Adam Driver does so much with so little dialogue, only using his face and sometimes only his eyes to portray such vividly distinct emotions - he’s extraordinary. But I wish they’d gone into more detail about what specifically calls him to the Light in that scene when he confesses to Vader’s mask. 
> 
> And doesn’t it reinforce how alone Kylo Ren/Ben is, that he literally only has the mask to talk to? That’s pretty devastating, actually.


	7. Important

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for some reason, I had Middle Earth on my mind while thinking about Takodana. When I think about Maz’s home-planet, I think of the Shire, of the eagles’ valley in The Hobbit.
> 
> At a certain point, I’ll be phasing out P.O.V. shifts, except between Kylo Ren and Rey, as the primary characters. I’ll allude to what’s happening with the others, but I won’t be adhering to canon plotlines.

**I Am Yours, You Are Mine**

_07_

_Important_

* * *

The hum of engines coaxed her back to wakefulness, and she blinked at the unfamiliar nearness of a low ceiling, and the alien weight of a blanket draped over her. There was another soft rumbling noise, and she turned her head…she was in a cabin. The soft rasping, rumbling noise…was _snoring_ , she realised, frowning in the dark. Only a seam of light under the door illuminated the shape of the interior. She was used to working in the dark, used to working by _feel_. She wasn’t used to the sound of another person sleeping so near to her.

She realised she was in a bunk in the secondary cabin. Long before Unkar Plutt had acquired the _Falcon_ , someone had modified the cabins, creating one with a large bed and wardrobes, and a second one, with customised bunk-beds long enough for a Wookiee, she realised. Someone had tucked her into the bottom bunk, a blanket draped over her.

For a long moment, she ran her fingertips over the slightly coarse, heavy fabric of the blanket.

In her memory, it was the first time anyone had ever tucked her in to bed.

Quickly assessing her position, Rey sank back against the mattress - awake now, it was far too soft, the pillow beneath her head an alien sensation, a luxury she could never afford - and memories of the last few hours swept over her.

The droid. The Outpost under attack. Commandeering the _Millennium Falcon_ \- meeting Han Solo! Finn, the Stormtrooper deserter. The Rathtars. The gangs.

She sighed, suddenly far more exhausted than when she had passed out from healing the Wookiee, realising just what an extraordinary day she’d had.

All because of the little droid!

She frowned in the dark, listening to the ship all around her. Self-sufficient, it was her immediate instinct to fling herself out of the cabin and head to the cockpit - if not to take charge, then to demand answers. Figure out her position. She had never been…beholden to anyone for her daily activities. Never relied on anyone to decide for her what she should do with her time. She had never been answerable to anything but her own better instincts, her own conscience.

That she was now merely a passenger on-board the legendary smuggling vessel dawned on her. A _passenger_. Reliant on her pilot. Her fate…rested with Han Solo. She had no money, only her skills: He could decide her fate, and there was little she could do to stop him.

She might have remained in the darkened cabin, listening to the alien sounds of someone snoring, if not for the discomfort of the too-soft mattress. If not for the fact she needed to use the toilet; and she hadn’t had a drink in hours. She was used to that, but something about space travel and the last few hectic hours…how long had she been unconscious? She had never overexerted herself like that before - it was too dangerous, out in the desert, where she would have found herself either sold for parts or a desert-creature’s unwitting dinner if she stayed still long enough. But something about being with Finn, and Han Solo, and the Wookiee…she felt like she could let her guard down, and she wouldn’t regret it.

Still, that didn’t mean she would relinquish all control over her own life to a stranger. She hadn’t survived this long by relying on others.

Rey would never have survived this long if she had relied on others.

She sat up, careful of the low ceiling above her head, and touched her feet to the floor, assessing. She no longer felt dizzy, nauseous, tired. How long had she been asleep? Her satchel and her staff had been stowed in the corner, and glancing around the room, she noticed Finn’s twin blasters had been given a holster, which dangled from a peg on the wall beside his battered pilot’s jacket, within arm’s reach of the former Stormtrooper.

Rey left Finn to his first night of sleep as a free man, padding silently out of the cabin. With only a skeleton-crew, the freighter was quiet but for the low throbbing of the engines, and she followed the sound of the Wookiee to the lounge, where he and Han Solo were sharing a drink of something hot, steam rising from their cups as they played a relaxed game of holochess.

Han Solo raised his eyes to her as she approached, and Rey had the sudden urge to go and fix her appearance for the intensity of the look he gave her, as if seeing _through_ her. Her appearance had never been a consideration to her before, her rope-braids coiled into buns at the base of her skull out of habit and necessity rather than vanity.

When Han Solo spoke, she realised he wasn’t assessing her appearance so much as her entire being. “After what you did today I would’ve expected you to rest longer.”

“Unfamiliar environment,” Rey said quietly, in explanation, and she made her way over to the lounge seating. As she slid into the booth, the Wookiee rumbled at her, speaking slowly enough for her to understand. “You’re…very welcome.” She rubbed her arm nervously, glancing over at Han Solo, who was scowling at her.

“You ever do anything like that before?”

“Not the plasma bolt,” Rey admitted, still trying to figure out just how she’d known to raise her hand at that moment. Chirrut’s relentless training had paid off. “I’ve held onto a speeder before, when a Blarina tried to steal it from me. And I’ve controlled a flock of ripper-raptors to stop myself getting torn to shreds, but…nothing like that. I’ve…only ever really practiced on lizards. Easier to catch that way.”

“Catch? For what?”

“Dinner.” Han Solo blinked at her.

“And what about Chewie’s arm?”

Rey glanced at the Wookiee. “I’ve…never done _anything_ like that before. But if the Force is the balance between light and dark, between life and death…if you can _take_ , then you can also give.”

Han stared at her. “You know what you’re doing, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know you’re wielding the Force.”

“Oh. That.” Rey glanced at Han. “I mean, yes. I know it’s the Force.”

“How’s a scavenger in the Jakkuvian desert know how to wield the Force? What you did? That takes _training_.”

“I… Lor San Tekka told stories, at Tuanul. Stories about the Force, about the Jedi Order, before they were destroyed… I have mentors.”

“ _Have_? The Jedi are dead.”

“But they’re never really gone,” Rey said softly, fiddling with the battered leather bracer buckled around her wrist.

“You’ve…you’re… _visited_ by them, by…by the Jedi who came before?” Han breathed, staring at her. Rey winced at the intensity of his gaze, inexplicably feeling…that she had done something wrong. But she hadn’t - she knew it: it felt _right_ to commune with those long departed.

They passed on their wisdom and knowledge. Rey interpreted it as she could, and applied it to her own life. That was it.

“Not all of them are trained Jedi, but all are one with the Force.”

“ _Not all of them_ \- how many - who - ?!” Han blurted, glancing from Rey to Chewie, looking flabbergasted. He frowned at Rey. “I know the deserter’s story, kid…what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well, where are you from?”

“Jakku.”

“Before that?”

“What do you mean?”

“You weren’t born there.”

“No… I don’t remember where I was born,” Rey admitted. “I was a little girl when I was discovered stowing away on a freighter and tossed out onto the landing-pad at Niima Outpost. Before that, there were other ships, three or four, I think. Explosions before that.”

“You don’t remember where you came from?”

“It was green,” was all Rey knew. She dreamed of it, sometimes. Or of a safe place. Endless meadows dotted with wildflowers of every colour, snow-capped mountains straining toward a pale, warm sun, the sky washed with colour - pink and orange, purple and deep Tuanulberry blue, the colours reflected on the shimmering, sparkling lake beyond the meadows. Whenever she dreamed of it, she felt safe, calm. She reached up, adjusting the cord around her neck, from which a kyber crystal hung, heavy and good against her skin, familiar. Comforting.

“Hm,” was all Han said.

“Have you…decided what you’re going to do with us?” Rey asked.

“Gotta get that droid to the Resistance,” Han sighed, glancing at her. “Gotta get _you_ to the only person who’s worthy to train you in the Force.”

“Me - _train_ me?!” Rey blinked. “ _Who_? The Jedi are a myth. There’s no-one -”

Han’s lips twitched. “True. There’s only one trained Jedi left in all the galaxy, and I wouldn’t send you to him even if we knew where he was, but…there’s another, who was trained as a Jedi - who chose a different path, but no less dedicated to preserving the balance in her own way. I’m gonna get you to Leia.”

Rey blinked. Breathed, “ _Leia_?” in an awed whisper. She glanced from Han to the Wookiee and back, her eyelashes fluttering as her eyes widened. She whispered, reverentially, “ _General Organa_? The Rebel General? Princess of Alderaan?”

“That’d be the one,” Han said, his tone amused.

“I’d thought…”

“What?”

“Well… I didn’t know she was a Jedi.”

“She trained as one,” Han clarified. “She applies the Jedi teachings to her work with the Resistance, in her leadership. Before that, she worked hard in the Senate. It was Luke who trained her… Now she’ll train you.”

“I… _Me_?” Rey said, her eyes widening, suddenly feeling flushed. _Leia Organa_!

“What, you got somethin’ better to do?” Han asked.

“I - well…if we’d gotten to the Resistance base without being intercepted, I’d thought I could offer to work as a mechanic,” Rey said. “I’m sure I’d be more useful to the Resistance that way. What I can do…”

“You have no idea what your potential is,” Han said softly, gazing at her, his expression warm but guarded. Rey couldn’t figure him out. He seemed to want to help, though also seemed to dread his involvement. “What you did… I’ve only seen one other person do that.”

“General Organa? Or Luke Skywalker?”

“Neither,” Han said softly, his face falling, and to Rey, he suddenly looked _old_ , where he hadn’t before. Something about the name he murmured next filled him with a sorrow too heavy to carry, “Ben.”

“Ben?” Rey blinked, her lips parting, and she stared at Han. _Ben_. The boy who had carved his name into the console, whose chess-pieces she had welded in place - to make sure they weren’t lost. To make sure Ben could easily find them again… _Her_ Ben.

“Ben…was my son,” Han said, and Rey stared.

“ _He still is_ ,” the Wookiee moaned, but Han didn’t look at him. Grief had lined his face, darkened his hazel eyes, pressed on his shoulders. He looked… _old_. Exhausted - not physically, but emotionally. Rey could feel it; his heart was sick. His pain radiated from him, constant, and the taste of his loneliness, his despair and regret, an all-consuming _grief_ , threatened to overwhelm her.

“He wanted to be _with_ _me_ , on this ship. To train as a _pilot_ ,” Han said, his voice thick with emotion. He shook his head, his silver hair sparkling in the lights. “I ignored my instincts… I lost my son.” Chewie moaned softly. Rey glanced at the Wookiee, then at Han Solo, whose face was haggard.

“What happened to him?” she whispered. Her Ben. The boy she had daydreamed about so often, wondering about the little boy who had been on the ship before it had been stranded in Jakku. What life he had led, what adventures he’d had… Gone.

“You know there is a delicate balance…the Light and the Dark…” Han said, and Rey nodded slowly, glancing at Chewie, who stared unseeingly at the holochess pieces. Han sighed heavily, his eyes faraway, the lines in his face carved out more deeply somehow. “Ben had struggled against the Dark since childhood, voices in his head, whispers…nightmares…they plagued him, fed on his worst fears, exploited them…took what was light and good and warped it, twisting it, until it was barely recognisable… Leia and I sent Ben to train as a Jedi with his uncle, Luke, thinking it would be best for him, to have someone devoted to teaching him, guiding him… He was betrayed, at the time when he needed help the most. Leia and I…weren’t there to reach him, before it was too late. He left. He made a choice… It was what we deserved, for allowing Ben to believe we’d given up on him. He never knew it was safe for him to come home, that we’d…that we’d fight the Dark _with_ him… We failed him… And that’s why you’re going to Leia. She’ll train you.”

“I’m sure she has enough to worry about, leading the Resistance,” Rey mumbled, thinking that Han’s explanation hadn’t made any sense whatsoever. Hadn’t actually _explained_ anything at all. What had happened to Ben Solo?

“True. She does. Doesn’t matter,” Han shrugged, and he pinned his tired, faded hazel eyes on her young, sparkling hazel ones, and said in a soft, gravelly tone, “You’re important.”

Rey blinked. She had no response.

No-one had ever said that to her, in her entire life.

She was just Rey. A scavenger. She wasn’t _important_.

But she _was_ to _him_.

Rey stared at him, flustered, heat flushing her cheeks. She had no idea what to say.

She didn’t have to respond: BB-8 appeared, chirping delightedly, nudging against Rey’s leg and cooing affectionately.

“Yes, I’ve recharged,” she said, and Han smiled sadly as the droid beeped, content. “I feel much better. What about you?” The droid chirped. “Have you had a polish?” The droid cooed, and Rey smiled softly.

 _There’s still sand in all my bits_ , BB-8 told her, and Rey’s smile widened.

“Gets in all the wrong places,” Rey agreed, and the droid hummed knowingly. Han’s eyes lightened as he smiled.

“Whole galaxy’s turned on its head over this little droid,” he sighed. The droid beeped softly, rolling gently on his gyrospheres. Chewie moaned softly. “Yeah…it reminds me of that, too.”

“Reminds you of what?” Rey asked softly.

Chewie rumbled, and Han smiled.

“Once upon a time, a farm-boy and an old-man paid for passage on the _Falcon_ to get to Alderaan, to deliver stolen plans of the Empire’s Death Star to the Rebel Alliance. Instead, we were captured. And Leia took charge of her own rescue!” Han smiled fondly. “All because of an R2 unit with a hologram requesting help from a hermit… Forty years later, the Resistance is looking for another hermit, and his location’s tucked safely away in this little droid.”

“History echoes,” Rey said softly, and Han raised his eyebrows. “Something Lor San Tekka used to say.”

“Yeah…that sounds like him,” he sighed.

“Did you ever visit Alderaan?”

“Before it was obliterated? No. Its culture and histories live on, now, through refugees, scattered across the galaxy,” Han sighed heavily. “I’ve heard…lots of stories about Alderaan.”

Rey sighed softly, and gazed at Han. “You…you really were part of the Rebel Alliance. You did help destroy the Death Star.”

“Yeah, against my better judgement,” Han said, a small smile teasing at his lips. Chewie muttered to himself, shaking his head. “I did not do it just to _impress the girl_! It was the right thing to do! And they needed me!” Chewie snickered. “So what that I married her - that was _years_ later! And it was _her_ idea! She told me to!” Chewie rumbled, and Rey smiled as Han caught her eye, his glinting with amusement. Chewie moaned. “Yeah… I miss the old days, too.” Han gazed at her thoughtfully. “You know…Leia used to talk about her training…the Force…how it guides all things. It’s no coincidence you three met, ended up on the _Falcon_. There’s a reason we all have crossed paths.”

“What reason is that?” Rey asked. The idea that all this was… _meant to be_ , had happened for some reason greater than herself, was far too big for her hazy little world of sand and salvage.

Han sighed heavily. “There’s an imbalance. The Dark is rising…”

“The Dark?”

“You said the First Order destroyed Niima Outpost…maybe it took longer to touch you, but the Dark is spreading its influence across the galaxy again, this time through the First Order,” Han sighed, shaking his head.

“I… I don’t think you’re…”

“You don’t think I know what I’m talking about? Well, maybe not,” Han sighed. “But I’ve seen too much to believe in coincidences. Leia’s put her hope in Luke’s return.”

“And you?”

“I think we’re getting too old for adventures,” Han said, and the Wookiee grumbled. Han’s lips twitched toward a smile, but his eyes were shuttered. “There’s a reason you found the droid. The same reason Luke found R2-D2 all those years ago: You were _meant_ _to_.”

“Meant to…to do what?” Rey asked, blinking. Han shrugged.

“Don’t have all the answers, kid. Wouldn’t be an adventure, otherwise,” he said. “But something brought you and Finn and the droid together, now, just as the First Order is getting more aggressive. They’re not even bothering to be covert anymore.”

“You…you really believe it…in the Force?” Rey said softly.

Han’s smile was soft, and he said, “Used to think it was all just a bunch of mumbo-jumbo. Thought I’d seen enough of the galaxy to know the truth behind all its mysteries. Then I met Luke.” His smile faded. “Listen, you might as well head back to the cabin, get some more rest. It’ll be a couple hours before we reach our destination. Imagine you won’t have much opportunity to rest in the future.”

“Why’s that?”

Han’s smile glittered. “’Coz that’s how this sort of thing usually works. A lot of flying, a lot of running - not too much sleep.” Chewie rumbled. “Unless you’re frozen in carbonite. Yeah. Try to avoid that.”

“Will do,” Rey said, and Chewie purred a laugh. “Where are we going?”

“Gotta get you three on a clean ship.”

“Clean?”

“Think it was luck, us finding the _Falcon_? If we found you on the _Eravana’s_ scanners, the First Order won’t be far behind,” Han said.

“On that note, I’ll try and get some sleep,” Rey said drily, flicking an eyebrow up, and Han chuckled.

“Sweet dreams,” he said, his voice full of warmth and amusement. BB-8 accompanied her back to the cabin, where Finn was still fast-asleep in the top bunk. The droid powered down in the corner by Rey’s staff and satchel, and she sank onto the bed, still uncertain about the mattress. How did people sleep on something so soft?

* * *

The Wookiee came to wake them, a few hours later: Finn snorted, startled from sleep, reaching for his blaster out of instinct. Unable to sleep any longer, Rey had pulled out the fabric she had traded for, and was sewing herself a new pair of trousers. She had the contents of her utility pouch arrayed on the blanket, BB-8 shining a soft light in her bunk, and he was piping music softly - he knew she liked it.

The Wookiee rumbled, and Finn blinked dazedly, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and climbed down from his bunk, as Rey tucked the needle and thread through the piece of fabric she was working on, before rolling it up neatly.

“What’d he say?” Finn asked, glancing at Rey as Chewie disappeared.

“Said to leave our things on the _Falcon_ ,” Rey said. “We won’t need them where we’re going.”

“And where’s that?” Finn asked, still shrugging on the holster, threaded over his shoulders, so his blasters were tucked under his arms, against his ribs. He shrugged his jacket on over the top.

“No idea,” Rey admitted, tucking the last of her tools into the utility satchel before reattaching it to her belt, buckling it tightly around her waist, letting it rest familiarly against her hip. They found Han and Chewie in the cockpit, and Rey’s lips parted, manoeuvring between them to get as close to the glass as she could.

 _Green_ filled the glass. Green, and blue, and white - soft clouds tumbling over _lakes_ and rivers, creating islands out of gentle hills and mountains, covered in _forests_. So much green.

“Watch the console, kid,” Han murmured, though there was no heat to his words as she leaned over the console, almost clambering on top of it, wanting nothing more than to press her face against the glass, to get as close as she could to the _green_ …

“There’s so much of it,” she breathed, awed. Her heart was throbbing. “I…I never imagined there could be this much green in all the galaxy.”

The _Falcon_ flew lower, soaring through exquisite untouched valleys, skirting mountain-ranges wreathed in mist, lakes gleaming bright as mirrors, sparkling in the light of a gentle sun, massive waterfalls churning up clouds of moisture, and gentle sweeping meadows and rolling hills fringed with forests shivering as they soared overhead.

It was…extraordinarily beautiful.

She never imagined a place like this could actually exist.

Han knew where he was going; he flew them over one last lake, and a star port emerged on the banks of another sweeping lake. At the far end of the lake rose a monument, a _castle_ , a darker ochre than the sand-seas of Jakku, timeless and attractive.

They didn’t make berth at the port: Han directed the _Falcon_ over a woodland hemming in the port to a small, picturesque meadow. It occurred to both Rey and Finn that Han had approached the castle in a way that no-one could see their approach. Nor could they see where he had landed the _Falcon_.

“Where are we?”

“Takodana,” Han sighed, but it meant nothing to Rey, who had only a limited knowledge of intergalactic travel. She only knew of the planets travellers and traders had brought to Jakku through their stories. “Here to see an old friend.” Finn’s stomach rumbled, and he grimaced, a hand pressed over his abdomen. “She’ll feed us.”

The loading-ramp could not descend fast enough for Rey. She was the first out of the _Falcon_ , half-running for the woods.

She _felt it_. The planet. _Alive_.

The sun was gentle, coaxing and pale-gold, casting its light on everything; warmth delicately kissed her skin, as a soft breeze caressed her. She felt moisture in the air, all around her, and _life_ , so much of it, so much _light_ , it made her dizzy.

Her senses were overwhelmed.

The scent of moist rich earth, of mist kissing wildflowers, their perfume lingering on the air, delicate and rich at once, warm and light. She slipped under the tree canopy, luxuriating in the moist, gentle shade washing everything in shades of green, thousands of different hues, and among them - blue, the sky, filtering through, rich browns and soft yellows, dark purple, rich blood-red at the edges of leaves, even among the trees there were slender boughs groaning with pale cream heavily-perfumed blossoms, so much life, so much _green_ , so many unidentifiable plants growing, striving, reaching for the sunlight filtering through leaves of a thousand shades of green, purple, crimson, colours she didn’t even know the names of, luxuriated in…it was spongy and giving underfoot, like the mattress in her bunk on-board the _Falcon_ , damp, scents blossoming up with every step, moisture absorbing into the battered leather of her boots, and she found herself crouching, sinking her fingers into the furry moss, long grasses tickling her arms and the back of her neck as she breathed in the scent of life, lost to the overwhelming sensations of millions of organisms _thriving_ , all of them connected, worms wriggling through the earth, snatched by small mammals burrowing deep beneath the woodland floor, insects creating a chorus as thousands of tiny birds’ hearts hummed, swooping and trilling and singing with a hundred different voices, hopping amid the fallen leaves mouldering amid the exquisite wildflowers basking in the sunlight, coaxing insects, their tiny wings humming as they hovered amid wildflowers, and small mammals skittered out of sight, their strange calls echoing off the trees, tiny furry creatures digging their claws in for grip as they sought sun-ripened nuts high in the bows of the trees, their leaves sighing against one another, large birds swooping to steal hatchlings from other birds’ nests, eating one, dislodging another, falling, broken, to the underbrush, a whiskered nose poking out of a burrow to scent its prey, opportunistic, to feed its own young, tramping a wildflower beneath its padded paws.

Life and death. Death, _feeding_ life. A circle, never-ending. A perfect balance.

She closed her eyes, smiling, and let it wash over her, losing herself to the feeling - _connectedness_. Oneness with all things. The _light_ …

It was a heady rush: She had never felt _anything_ like it on Jakku. There had been the most stubborn glimmer of life that had allowed them to survive: but this planet was riotous with it.

A perfect riot. Chaos personified. _Balance_.

Such _life_ …

“ _Re_ -“

“Leave her,” Han said, cutting the kid off as he yelled, anxious and impatient. Han held up a hand, stopping Finn from running after the girl, as she brushed her palms against tree-trunks groaning with fresh green moss, twirling as she followed a bird’s flight, trilling to its mate, falling to her knees to sink her fingers into the moss, leaning in to smell the buttery-yellow wildflowers growing in profusion in the cool moisture of the sun-dappled woodland undergrowth.

A kid from the desert, delivered to an oasis.

Han watched the awe suffusing her expression, the exquisite, purest _joy_ , the peace and delight radiating from her, a slender slash of light amid the shaded green, remembering another kid whose quiet moments radiated with joy and wonder at everything around him, curious to learn, excited by everything, overwhelmed and entranced by the connectedness, the oneness, an innate sense of belonging to all things, an understanding - an appreciation.

Ben had learned to climb trees in these woods: Maz had taught him, her ancient face creased by hearty laughter and kind smiles, her eyes fond and compassionate as she murmured to his son about the _balance_ …powerful dark forever entwined with powerful light… Reassurance, that though there was darkness…the light only shone as vibrantly _because_ of the dark…

Han wondered very much how this girl’s wonder and awe had survived the harshness of her upbringing - then reasoned that it was the barrenness of the desert which inspired such awe now, overwhelmed and enchanted by the unfamiliarity of nature all around her.

Rey opened her eyes, turned. Her smile was brilliant, straight white teeth glittering in her sun-tanned face - beautiful. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and it emanated from her in waves, contagious, as a laugh tumbled from her lips.

There was something so childlike, so _pure_ in the way she laughed, darting from flower to plant, gazing up into the canopy, assessing a tree-trunk choked with climbing roses and honeysuckle, starting to climb, gazing out over the woods, peering at bird’s nests, tilting her head at a red squirrel flicking its tail for balance, focusing on a tiny honey-bee buzzing near her head. She inhaled deeply of the rich, perfumed air, full of moisture and the promise of _life_ , of growing things - of _green_. The leaves sighed in the breeze, dislodging water from a gentle rain, pattering against her skin, cool, refreshing; birds trilled and sang with gusto; the sun filtered through the leaves, softer than anything she had ever felt. It was neither too hot nor was it cold; it was perfect.

Eventually, she clambered down from her perch, smiling breathlessly at BB-8, waiting at the foot of the tree; she danced into the woods, her eyes low, now, focused on the _colours_ of the flowers - soft pale blue; milky yellow; vibrant orange; deep, lustrous crimson with hearts of fuzzy gold; bright pink; soft purple; violet and cream and flecks of gold and pale blue _all_ _in the same flower_ ; some were frilly, soft, delicate; others were structured, sturdier. Some rose in tall spires dangling with delicate bells, some nestled amid glossy foliage, others waving gently on impossibly slender stalks, some grew in large clumps of vivid purple, some grew in such profusion in patches amid the moss, some exploded where they were entwined around tree-trunks, so many flowers she couldn’t count them, others peeked out of the underbrush, alone, remarkable because they were alone.

She picked one of every kind she could see, her palm suddenly full with bright green stalks, two dozen different flowers in her hand, their natural perfume teasing her nose, exquisite, _beautiful_ \- she left the large blossoms, and sank to her knee as she noticed the details, some of the blossoms unfurled, some missing petals, savaged by insects, some of the stalks too heavy with flowers, collapsed against the undergrowth, where the flowers were already wilting, some buds were tightly furled, near-invisible seams crawling with tiny insects collecting nectar, some buds so heavy the slender stalks had bent almost double - but not snapped. The buds bobbed in the breeze, protected by the worst of the winds by the trees looming over them, resilient.

Rey could have stayed in those woods for hours, exploring.

As BB-8 trilled the names of each of the wildflowers for her, even the colloquial names used by native Takodanans, saved for some reason in his memory-banks, Rey glanced up, realised she had run headlong into the woods - heedless of any dangers, abandoning the others. A little embarrassed, but not at all apologetic, Rey regretfully left the lush cool of the woods, joining the others in the meadow. They had waited for her. She picked out a tiny flower with five petals of vibrant sky-blue on her way to Chewie, as Finn raised his eyebrows at her.

“You might need this,” Han said, and he offered her a small blaster. Rey glanced at the weapon.

“I can handle myself,” she said softly.

“I know you can, that’s why I’m giving it to you,” Han said, raising his eyebrows. He frowned. “Why don’t you carry a blaster? Sure you’ve gotten into many scrapes before.”

“Twenty-one feet,” Rey said quietly.

“Huh?”

“Twenty-one feet. The maximum distance an attacker with a blade can close in the time it takes to react, draw your side-arm and fire is twenty-one feet,” Finn said, as if reciting from a training manual - which he probably was, Rey reflected.

“Inside twenty feet, I’ll give you a _spanking_ you won’t quickly forget,” Rey said, patting the small knife buckled to her belt, and Han grinned. “Outside that, I have other options besides shooting a person.”

“Like negotiating.”

“Like _running_ ,” Rey smiled, and Han chuckled.

“Put an old man at ease; take it,” he said, offering her the pistol again, and Rey glanced at Finn, strapped with twin blasters stolen from dead Kanjiklub criminals, at Han, pistol at his thigh, at Chewie, his bowcaster slung across his back as he toiled on the _Falcon_. Even BB-8 could zap the unwary with enough energy to stop their heart if he so chose. Sighing, she relented, and glanced at the pistol. “See this. Little red dot? That means your safety’s on. Get into the habit of knowing where the catch is, what position it’s in, so you can disengage it when you need to. Never point it at someone unless you intend to pull the trigger. Keep it cleaned and primed. Finn can teach you all that later.”

“Yeah,” Finn agreed, smiling briefly.

Han told Chewie to start making repairs to the _Falcon_ , and the Wookiee rumbled assent. “You hungry, kid?”

Rey nodded: but her hunger was normal, and therefore unremarkable.

“Good. ‘Coz you’re about to eat the best food in the Western Reaches,” Han said, smiling to himself. Rey, walking behind him with Finn, assessed the older man. He walked with a decided swagger, almost bowlegged, but there was tension in his shoulders, his hand never straying too far from the holster strapped to his thigh. But he seemed relaxed enough, as droids and occasional humanoids wandered past them, heading away from the castle to the star-port, which was busy with incoming vessels and departures.

“What is this place?”

“The castle? Owned by Maz Kanata. Legend has it that it was built over the site of an ancient battle between Jedi and the Sith. In the catacombs deep beneath the dungeons, there are ancient tombs of the Jedi,” Han said, and Rey raised her eyebrows.

“ _Dungeons_?” Finn repeated anxiously.

“Maz has only the one rule: ‘All are welcome - no fighting’,” Han said. “She’s run this watering-hole for a thousand years. Could give you free board overnight if she takes a liking to you, or rent out a room longer-term if you can afford it. But, you commit violence here, you’re never permitted re-entry. Depending what she decides to do with you after she lets you out of her dungeon. She’s got a droid, ME-8D9, an ancient protocol droid - rumour has it she was an assassin before she became Maz’s enforcer.”

“Maz sounds like an interesting person,” Rey remarked, and Han laughed fondly to himself.

“Oh, she is. A pirate queen, she’s something of a legend to smugglers and spice runners and Rebels. She’s spent centuries travelling the galaxy, collecting antiquities - and stories, and the people they’re told about. She protects relics - she believes things from the past can still have an impact on the future… Font of wisdom, and _decent_ \- and she’s held more influence over a thousand ports across the galaxy since the infancy of the Galactic Republic than the First Order could ever aspire to have. Fond of music. Bit of an acquired taste,” he said, and Rey reflected that he had mentioned Maz had run the cantina for a _thousand years_. “Now, you’ll find all sorts in here, but Maz’s rules have made it a safe haven, neutral territory - anyone seeking sanctuary, even those who have bounty-hunters after them, will be safe here.”

“Sounds perfect for us,” Finn said, and Han’s lips twitched.

“Just remember the golden rule,” Han said, as they entered a courtyard. Looming above them was a statue of a humanoid with their arms spread out in welcome. Flags representing every planet and moon and star system flapped in the gentle wind coming off the lake, some ancient and tattered and faded, most vibrant, some intricate, all fighting for dominance much as the wildflowers and plants were in the woods. A droid lumbered past them, and they wandered up broad steps polished by the foot-traffic of a thousand years. “ _No fighting_.”

Rey wondered briefly who this Maz was, to inspire such…veneration. For people of all walks, through all the ages, to respect her rules. To seek shelter under her roof, time and again. Why Han Solo, hero of the Rebellion, came to _her_ for help and guidance.

“Just…don’t stare,” Han advised.

“At what?” they both asked, exchanging a glance.

Han paused. “ _Any_ of it.”

Wide doors opened inwards, and mellow music met them, laughter and the sound of dozens of different languages. Sunlight streamed into the huge chamber through tall slits in the stonework of the walls, lighting it softly, aided by lamps and fires - over some of which were hung mammals, turning over a spit, being brushed with herbs, basted with rich marinades - and the rich scents of spicy, savoury food teased Rey’s nose as they wandered in after Han. She gazed around. Nothing at Niima Outpost resembled this. Artefacts and symbols decorated the walls, people were clustered around, smoking and sipping strange drinks, playing unusual games she had never heard of, laughing and chittering, having a fluid conversation in five different languages over a huge dish of vibrant food, and at each mismatched table, she blinked, startled to see jugs full of wildflowers, the jugs filled with water. It occurred to her that the flowers were there merely for decoration: there was water to spare for such a luxury here.

The overwhelming sensation of cosiness, of _home_ , hit Rey like a punch to the gut. She had never felt anything like it. Relaxed, content - people were well-fed, never allowed to go thirsty, and enjoying the safety of Maz’s rules, which Finn muttered were splashed across every wall in every language known across the galaxy: _No fighting_.

Nobody paid them any attention: At least, Rey didn’t _think_ they did, and that made her anxious that people _had_ noticed them.

It was a strange feeling: knowing that people were _looking for her_.

Wasn’t that what she had wanted, all these years? For her family to be _looking for her_?

It made her stomach feel odd, and she rubbed her arm unconsciously, BB-8 trailing her as she kept close to Finn.

She was unarmed, and overwhelmed: She…was so far from everything she had ever known.

“ _HAN SOLO_!”

The cantina went silent: a few glasses smashed in the bowels of the chamber. Everyone - human, droid and humanoid alike - swivelled to stare at the newcomer, with his silvered hair, lined face and thigh holster. Rey glanced at Finn, who raised his eyebrows at her, and they both consciously took a step back from Han. BB-8 tucked himself behind Rey’s legs.

“Oh, boy,” Han sighed, then raised his voice, waving, “Hey, Maz!”

A diminutive humanoid approached, barely reaching Rey’s hips in height. Her leathery-looking skin was sunburnt orange, and deeply lined, as if by laughter and smiles: Huge eyeglass goggles were clamped over tiny, warm-brown eyes. She was plainly clothed, except for her jewellery - a long necklace of carved wooden beads, her fragile wrists packed with metal bangles that clicked and chimed delicately as she moved, rings flashing on her fingers.

A tiny pirate queen.

Her size, Rey understood immediately, belied her true stature.

Everyone, human, droid and humanoid alike, made way for her. The crowd went back to their drinks, their games and conversations as she approached Han, their interest lost.

“Where’s my boyfriend?” asked Maz, peering up at Han.

“Chewie’s working on the _Falcon_ ,” Han said, glancing at Rey and Finn, a smile hinting at the corners of his mouth.

“I like that Wookiee,” said Maz. She pinned those small eyes on Han. “I assume you need something. _Desperately_ … Let’s get to it.” She waved her hand, bracelets and bangles tinkling, and led them through the throngs, to an empty table.

Rey leaned closer to Han, to say, “I like her.”

She did like Maz’s attitude - there was something about Maz putting Han in his place. Something about the way Maz put everyone in their places if they were going to stay under her roof. She couldn’t read the ciphers on the walls, but knew it was the same thing, repeated over and over again: _No fighting_. They passed tables groaning with food, more piled with empty tankards quickly whisked away or replenished, others where games were being played. It struck Rey that everyone was _respectful_ \- of their host, of the fact that they were paying customers but also guests. Music played on, people laughed, droids exchanged information, and platters of sizzling food were carried past, making Finn groan softly with longing.

“Kitchen’s open, huh?” Han said. “Promised the kids the best food in the Western Reaches.”

“Hm!” Maz squeaked, climbing onto a stool, waving at someone Rey couldn’t see, as they all took the chairs and stools offered. BB-8 stayed close to Rey, tucking himself under the table.

“You always knew how to lay the flattery on thick, Han,” said Maz fondly. She adjusted her goggles, peering at Rey and the droid, then at Finn. “Not like you to pick up strays.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Han said. “We’ve had an interesting couple of days.”

“Have you?” Maz said, and a droid appeared, bearing a tray. Silver tankards were handed out, and Maz honoured them all by serving them herself, filling each of the tankards. She raised her own and said something - a blessing, Rey thought it might be - in an alien language Rey had never heard. The drink was refreshing and slightly but spicy, burning her throat even as _ice_ floated in the tankard. It took some getting used to, for someone who only ever drank tepid water.

“I’ll tell you about it over a meal,” Han promised, and the hostess narrowed her eyes, the nodded thoughtfully. Another motion to someone out of sight, and yet who obviously kept their sights on Maz, and she focused again on Han.

“Actually, the story doesn’t start with me,” Han said, glancing at Finn, who looked taken-aback, flustered and not at all grateful at being singled out by Han. “Go ahead, kid. Tell her.”

Reluctantly, Finn told his part of the story. And it turned out not to be as simple as him deserting. When he confessed to Maz that he had lowered his weapon because of a “feeling”, she snared the word, and seemed determine to pick it apart.

She spoke of the _Force_.

It made Finn uncomfortable, Rey could tell: but also mesmerised by curiosity as Maz explained the way light was in all things, and connected all things.

As she spoke, droids appeared bearing many little dishes and bowls filled with steaming food. While Maz’s attention was fixed on Finn, Han leaned in, and helped Rey. If she had ever eaten anything but Imperial ration-packs, Bloggin, crickets and lizard-meat, she had no memory of it. She had never had any idea that food could be so…vibrant. Colour exploded from every dish. Colour, and fragrance - spices whispered in the air, and deeply savoury flavours, with a hint of tang and sweetness.

Han described every dish for her, and taught her how to eat each by example. Soft tubes slathered in sauce and sprinkled with cheese; corn-on-the-cob grilled and slathered with a sweet, spicy, cheesy butter-sauce and lime salt; rope-shaped tubes in a rich ragu with freshwater octopus; fresh flatbreads with rich yogurt, salty cheese, fried eggs, onions, olives and herbs; fried freshwater shrimp encased on an even thinner flatbread of purple corn, with a _salsa_ of fruit and chillies, and a cooling cucumber slaw; soft, silky buns stuffed with melt-in-the-mouth mushrooms and breaded aubergine and a creamy, spicy sauce; tiny soup-dumplings folded artistically, served with a dipping sauce; larger buns, steamed and pan-fried, sprinkled with tiny seeds and packed with melt-in-the-mouth meat and flavourful vegetables; a platter of thick noodles Rey gravitated to, the flavour deeply warming, cosy, _home_ ; and a soup, Han’s favourite, which was ochre in colour, swimming with thin noodles, shrimp, shredded poultry, powdered chillies, herbs and a boiled egg, split on the top.

It was delicious. And so spicy it made her cry.

“I’ve built up a tolerance over decades,” Han told her, chuckling softly, as Maz thoughtfully offered Rey a handkerchief, even though she was engrossed in conversation now with BB-8 while Finn tucked into his meal.

Rey sampled _everything_. And Maz’s tiny, wrinkled face creased, her tiny eyes twinkling, as Rey’s passion and enthusiasm - her _appreciation_ \- for each mouthful bordered on indecency.

She had never tasted anything like it, and wouldn’t apologise as she indulged, savouring every bite as unfamiliar flavours and textures flooded her senses.

Maz just smiled, chuckling softly, and let her eat, looking fond.

Han murmured to Rey that the biggest compliment any of her guests could pay Maz was to be rendered speechless by her hospitality, by the quality of her food.

Rey’s enthusiasm was a compliment: Maz lapped up every moan and hum of delight.

Instead of interrupting Rey’s religious experience, Maz turned to the droid, who beeped and trilled enthusiastically to Maz, complimenting her goggles. While Rey ate, BB-8 told his part of the story, from the sacking of Tuanul to being rescued by Rey and stowing away aboard the _Falcon_ , his terror over the all-consuming Rathtars, and Chewie giving him a polish to buff out the scrapes and scratches from his misadventures in the desert.

A droid appeared to collect the emptied plates and dishes, replenishing their tankards, and another droid carried over something that made Han start, his face creasing with sadness. Sweet-smelling cones, on which were scoops of something creamy-white, glistening.

“ _Aisa_ ,” he breathed, and the droid offered the cones to each of them in turn. Rey glanced at Han as she took one of the little cones. Whatever was scooped on top was already starting to drip, intensely cold against her skin. And whatever it was, Han was suddenly suffused in sorrow. She felt it, through the Force; he felt the same way he had when he had been talking about his son, Ben. She’d felt a flicker of it as she wandered, smiling, out of the woods, reluctant, her hand full of wildflowers.

She watched Maz eating whatever it was, licking it. Han ate it the same way; Finn finished his in a few mouthfuls.

Rey eyed the _aisa_ and scented it - it smelled cold and fresh, only slightly sweet - and dabbed her tongue out. It was cold, refreshing, with only a hint of sweetness teasing after she swallowed the smooth, ice-churned cream. She blinked, startled, and set in to devour the treat.

“It’s _wonderful_ ,” she moaned softly to Maz, whose eyes crinkled as she smiled. “You should be _very_ proud.”

Maz chuckled.

The conversation returned to BB-8.

“A map? To Skywalker himself,” Maz said, and her face turned jubilant as she gaped at Han, cackling with laughter. “You are right back in the mess!”

“Maz, I need you to get the girl and this droid to Leia,” Han said sombrely, and Rey glanced covertly at Finn, who was still eating his _aisa_ , his dark eyes scanning the crowded chamber. With the noise-level, she doubted anyone could overhear their conversation - except the droids present.

“Mm,” Maz pulled a thoughtful face, her tiny mouth twisting with amusement. “ _No_. You’ve been running away from this fight for too long. Han…” She said something in her native language that Rey didn’t understand, but seemed full of feeling. “ _Go home_.”

“Leia doesn’t want to see me,” Han grumbled.

“Please, we came here for your help,” Finn said earnestly.

“What fight?” Rey asked curiously. Maz blinked at her.

“The _only_ fight. Against the Dark Side. Through the ages, I’ve seen evil take many forms. The Sith; the Empire. Today, it is the First Order,” Maz said. There was something so captivating about her rich, warm voice, so full of sincerity and wisdom. Rey could listen to it for days. “Their shadow is spreading across the galaxy. We must face them. Fight them. All of us.”

“There’s no fight against the First Order, at least not one we can win.” They all glanced at Finn, who was leaning over the table, his face no longer earnest but passionate, almost fierce.

“The same was said of the Sith. Of the Empire,” Maz said, waving a hand elegantly. She gestured at Han. “You sit in the presence of one who helped destroy that juggernaut, and you doubt it can be done again?”

“Yeah, we’re sitting with Han Solo,” Finn said. “There’s no chance we haven’t already been recognised: The First Order is probably on their way right…” Maz reached up, adjusting her goggles, making her eyes grow huge behind the gleaming lenses. She climbed onto the table, and BB-8 beeped as Maz dislodged fruit and tankards, sending them spilling to the floor, bouncing off the droid. Finn glanced uncertainly at Han. “What’s this? What’re you doing? Solo…what is she doing?

“I don’t know, but it ain’t good,” Han murmured.

“If you live long enough, you see the same eyes in different people,” Maz said softly, peering at Finn, adjusting her goggles again. “I’m looking at the eyes of a man who wants to run.”

Finn leaned forward, challenging, fierce. “You don’t know a thing about me. Where I’m from, what I’ve seen. You don’t know the First Order like I do. They’ll slaughter us. We all need to run.”

“The First Order is a frenzied imitation of the Empire…its leaders looked long and hard at what went wrong with the Empire, and rebuilt from the ashes, learning from the mistakes… But they learned the wrong thing from those mistakes,” Maz sighed, shaking her head. She gazed at Finn. “Start running now, boy…and you will never stop. One day, maybe not today, maybe not for forty years, you will fight. Sooner the better, before the First Order squeezes its chokehold on the galaxy as the Empire did before it, destroying all that is great and good. And you, girl?”

“Me?” Rey blinked, suddenly flushed as she found herself the focus of Maz’s intense look. “Oh… I can’t return to Jakku.”

“And why not?” Maz asked.

“I stole from the most important man in Niima Outpost. I’ll never be able to scratch a living from the wreckages now; Unkar Plutt simply won’t pay me. I’ll starve,” Rey said, rubbing her arm, tucking away the rising panic, the overwhelming feeling of uncertainty about her future. “But I have skills. I’m a mechanic, and I could be a half-decent pilot with more practice.”

“That’s true,” Han agreed.

“Until we commandeered the _Falcon_ to help BB-8 escape, I’d never thought I’d ever leave Jakku,” Rey said softly. “Now that I have…there’s no going back… But I’ve worked hard to remain free all my life. I’d rather live contributing to something greater than myself. ”

“Even if you’ll die for it,” Maz said softly.

“We all die. It’s just a matter of when. And how we meet it,” Rey said quietly, and her cheeks heated as the two men stared at her, and Maz peered at her with too-large eyes gleaming behind her goggles. The thought that came to Rey then was honest and heart-breaking, and perhaps it went unsaid, that they understood it quicker than she did: _She didn’t want to die alone_. She wanted her death to matter. She…wanted to be _missed_. “Excuse me. Um…your facilities?”

“Through that corridor, on your left,” Maz said, gesturing with a hand, her bracelets and bangles tinkling softly.

“Thank you,” Rey said, rising from the stool, and BB-8 chirped, and followed her through the jostling crowds, to a quiet, cool corridor of hewn stone, short, patterned carpets lining the well-worn floor. Rey blinked down at them, lips parting, and stepped to the edge of the corridor, not wanting to tread on the richly-coloured carpets, full of woven stories.

“BB-8, you stay here - _No_! This is private -“

 _I shall turn my photoreceptor around_.

“BB-8 -“

 _Poe is uncomfortable having me around when he makes expulsions. Is it human programming_?

“Erm… I suppose so,” Rey said, and the droid followed her into a chamber from which a female humanoid exited. Walls of doors stood on either side. “Just - look, wait out here while I go in the stall - no, BB-8, you can’t come in with me - I won’t be long just - _stay_.”

She locked the stall door on the droid, who beeped and started whistling and chirping while he waited. Finished, she opened the door, almost falling over the droid, who droid beeped happily, as if he hadn’t seen her in months.

Two little BU-TSHN droids hovered to her from the corner, one of them hovering over her head ominously, the other beeping for her hands: wary, she inserted them in the little droid, who rinsed her hands with tepid water, and she jumped, startled - the droid beeped softly, coaxingly, an apology and an explanation - as it cleaned under and around her fingernails, buffing rough skin, polishing her nails, lathering her hands with something foamy and lightly fragranced, which was rinsed away, and then started… _kneading_ her fingers and hands, squeezing and rubbing them - _massage_ , the droid called it. And it felt delicious. It finished by misting Rey’s hands with something softly fragranced that absorbed into her skin, leaving her hands softer than she could ever imagine. Her hands were still scarred, but her fingernails were uniformly filed, buffed to a healthy shine, and her skin felt soft and supple.

The other droid made her jump a second time: It had reached long prehensile arms and started to unwind her braids, plucking out pins, tousling her long hair, and she raised her shoulders, ducking her head, as the droid misted cool liquid over her head. BB-8 watched curiously, chirping.

 _Are you being tortured_?

“I don’t think so,” Rey said, her lips twitching with amusement.

She had seen a BU-TSHN droid only once: The prince of a faraway planet had come to Jakku, ostensibly to ensure the wreckages of the Imperial warships had been stripped of any pertinent information the New Republic could use, but in actuality, to extend his own criminal enterprise and enjoy a few unfettered weeks with his harem of concubines, of whom Rey had caught a single glimpse, and all of whom had been indescribably lovely, from different alien and human races, attended by their BU-TSHN droids. The one and only time Rey had ever chanced to meet a Mandalorian, she had come to Jakku with a bounty-hunter’s fob, but her ship had been damaged: Very young at the time, Rey had been the only one unwise enough to approach the Mandalorian, exchanging stories and the teaching of certain skills in exchange for the parts she scavenged from a _Destroyer_. Rey had helped her rebuild her ship. The Mandalorian had left Jakku with her quarry - not the prince, but one of his harem, a particularly stunning and vicious Togruta female.

Strange, what her mind went to, as the BU-TSHN droid massaged her scalp, her hair tumbling loose and long for the first time in ages: When it had finished cleaning her hair and massaging her scalp, the droid used its prehensile arms to braid Rey’s hair the same way she had worn it before, though the braids were neater than Rey ever achieved, prettier. Her hair was shining and glossy; it _felt_ clean and healthy.

She murmured a thank you to the BU-TSHN droids, who beeped softly and retired to the corner of the chamber, and BB-8 chirped at her as they left.

The last few days - was it that many, even? - had been one new experience after the other. This one was pleasant. She imagined she would always find Maz Kanata’s castle _pleasant_.

If not for the teasing thought she had, about offering her services to the Resistance, Rey wondered about staying at the castle. Surely Maz could use another pair of hands around the place? Han had mentioned to Finn that he could use help aboard the _Falcon_ , if Finn wanted to learn a little about engines and piloting.

She paused to examine one of the woven carpets again as they wandered down the stone corridor, and Rey frowned, a chill creeping over her skin, raising goose-bumps, as she heard a soft, heartbroken cry echoing eerily off the stone walls, “ _Noooooooo_ …”

Rey blinked, glancing around. BB-8 gazed up at her, photoreceptor flashing, asking what was wrong. Had she picked up something his receptors could not? Anything the human senses could perceive, he said, so could he - except for smell, unless it related to his programmed role as an astromech droid.

The cry came again, an anguished whimper, and Rey turned…followed the sound, wandering deeper into the bowels of Maz’s castle, where the light was less, and the shadows seemed to have eyes. Down time-worn steps, BB-8 thunking softly on each one, Rey was acutely aware of the sound of her breathing, the sound of her heart pumping blood around her body, as she made each step, winding through corridors and cavernous chambers, narrow passages and spiral staircases BB-8 could not navigate with ease; but he kept close to her.

A nondescript door, a room piled with junk, treasures concealed by worthless woven baskets and leather holsters.

Rey frowned, following the cries, the whispering…the _light_ , calling to her, sighing, as if it had longed to see her for far too long, glad she had come, relieved, finally, that she was here.

It was a curio box made of wroshyr wood, and very old. Voices whispered to her, and she thought, fleetingly, that if she only opened the box, she would find what she had been looking for all this time. The voices of those who had come before her, coaxing her on, drawing her home. Dust covered the lid, but there was no lock. Rey blinked, found herself unable to resist the urge to open the lid, even though in the back of her mind, she knew this was Maz Kanata’s, and this castle was not to be scavenged from. She was no thief.

She opened the lid.

There was a hyperspace sextant, indescribably old, a fusioncutter head, and a _diatium_ _power-cell_.

But those priceless mechanical treasures were nothing to the gleaming inside a leather wrapping, a cord tied hastily, revealing gleaming metal, an activation matrix.

The hilt of a _lightsaber_.

She untied the cord binding the leather, let it fall away.

Marvelled at the craftsmanship of the weapon.

Heard the whispers, the tingles down her spine, the fine hairs on her arms rising, a thousand voices coaxing her, encouraging her…to reach out. Touch the blade…she was always meant to…

She licked her lips thoughtfully, gazing at the hilt. It was elegantly fashioned, and even she balked at the idea of prising it open to investigate its inner workings. Beautiful.

Rey grasped the hilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With what I plan to do with this story, I really like that Anakin’s lightsaber called to Rey. I also like the idea that maybe Anakin’s destiny in restoring the balance wasn’t about him, you know, committing genocide, but rather him fathering a bloodline of freedom fighters etc. that led to Ben Solo, a dyad with Rey: A balance of Light and Dark.
> 
> I’ve also decided that Rey does have a family. Hopefully I’ve tucked little Easter Eggs in, so it won’t come out of left field, you know, like claiming she’s a Palpatine?! Of course, I dislike that whole plotline anyway, so I’m going to sort that out!


	8. First Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone else have a girl-crush on Gina Carano after bingeing The Mandalorian? Cara Dune. #caralorian #mummycara #starwarswomen #badass. To say she’s inspired one of the characters I’ll hint at in this chapter but who won’t appear for ages, well, she did. And I’m so glad Carano has embraced her figure as an actress - every time she’s onscreen, she boosts my confidence!
> 
> Also, for some reason I can’t imagine this fic without Gal Gadot becoming Rey. I mean, I know the reason: She’s a total goddess. Also she killed it as the soft, principled, hopeful badass warrior (who also channels blue zappy lights to stop an evil god!)

**I Am Yours, You Are Mine**

_08_

_First Steps_

* * *

She yelled out, as the ghost of pain seared her palm. The chamber went dark: She stumbled, and the roughhewn walls gave way to severe, glossy metal walls, an unending corridor harshly lit by glowing floor-panels, eerie in its cleanliness and perfection of engineering. She could never have imagined anything like it. A child’s screams echoed off the walls, but they were lost to the sound of heavy, mechanical breathing…

Rey ran toward the screaming, a man’s voice echoing, “ _Noooooo_ ” as a rumbling jarred her steps, and she tumbled, falling, into an elegant chamber lit by flickering candlelight, a beautiful dark-eyed woman with long glossy curls cradling the soft swell of her belly under an exquisite pale-blue dress, a carved japor snippet dangling from a chain around her neck. She was smiling, but it faded, her skin paling, her eyes closing, and in the gathering dusk, her dark curls were arranged with fragrant white flowers, her body shrouded in midnight-blue, serene and exquisite even in death, hands clasped over the japor snippet, her funeral procession observed by hundreds of thousands who stood in silence, an entire city drawn to a standstill in their grief…

The sound of screams unnerved her, glancing over her shoulder; no-one else heard them, no-one looked away from the open casket, their faces tear-stained in the twilight. No-one heard the screams, but Rey did, and she turned, and frowned, trying to find whoever it was - the city melted away, a small chamber echoing with the distant sounds of conflict…small children in sand-coloured robes crying and raising their hands, trying to fight - viciously cut down by a cloaked wraith wielding a pale-blue lightsaber…

She stumbled away from the sight of children being butchered, bile rising in her throat, and the ground shook beneath her feet, stone and timber cascading over her head, and she panted and shook, struggling to free herself - she saw a hooded man, his trimmed beard glinting in the light of a tremendous fire, reaching a bionic hand to a battered R2 droid beeping that no sign of life could be detected beyond, and the man screamed in agony and grief and guilt, “ _Noooooo…_!”

A feminine voice, soft and condemning, said grimly, “ _This is how liberty dies…with thunderous applause_ …”

It _sounded_ like applause as Rey braced her hands over her head, another barrage of falling debris falling around her, and she sucked in a breath, shocked - she stood in the centre of a burning building, heat choking her, flames tearing at her, smoke in her eyes, and she screamed, and screamed, because she knew this, had experienced this nightmare every night for years…she felt _small_ , in the heart of the fire, as the ceiling collapsed, and a tall, slender young man fought through the flaming wreckage, a pale lightsaber shining as he grimaced and choked on sobs, hacking through stone and steel supports, his huge hand shaking, his fingers splayed, raised to the flames, boulders and beams rising from the ground, and his lightsaber dropped to the floor as he reached for a small Togruta child, her lekku short and delicate, but for the blood; the child had been crushed, her lower-body nothing more than an indiscernible mess of gore, but she was clinging to life, gurgling and choking on her own blood as the boy cradled her, tears streaming down his narrow face. Amber eyes flashed like gold in the firelight, glazed in death, the little body relaxing with a harrowing rattle of breath, and the boy, with his glossy dark hair, large ears and lean, lithe body crumpled under grief, shaking, and his roar of grief and pain seemed to be ripped from him, volatile, _raw_ and earnest, but he was exquisitely gentle, shell-shocked, as he laid the tiny broken body down, stumbling for his lightsaber as if unsteady on his feet from physical blows, gazing around the burning building, horror in his dark eyes, and he closed them, attempting calm, focusing, even as tears splashed down his wan cheeks - drawn to another child…Rey gulped, and cried, because she knew this one…her face haunted Rey’s dreams, melting eyes dripping down her face like tears as the girl screamed and cried and the flames lapped at her body, trapped… He knew it was too late. The boy glanced up, sobbing silently, his shock, nausea and horror echoing her own - he saw her, _saw_ Rey, his brown eyes widening, and his lips parted as he rushed to get to her, his long fingers splayed as he raised his hand, his features drawn in concentration, in effort, as he focused on the flames, never daring to blink, or take his eyes off her…

An explosion buried them, and when Rey opened her eyes, clambering off the ground, she was in a star-port on an unfamiliar planet, under heavy fire - explosions going off everywhere, rumbling and groaning, vessels going up in flames, buildings collapsing, causing screams and cries - people shrieking for help, yelling to run, rushing to their ships to escape, only to find them obliterated, rendered to nothing but twisted husks belching black smoke. Rey’s breath caught in her lungs as she watched a tiny girl with glossy dark rope-twist braids holding her tiny hand out, as the boy had done, creating an invisible shield that the explosions of fire and debris could not penetrate; her tiny face was drawn in concentration, almost pain, her hazel eyes closed almost to slits, and Rey watched, breathless, as white-blue sparks flickered on her fingertips, the child screaming with rage as a stocky young-woman in reinforced gear was thrown off her feet by the impact of another bomb-blast, running toward her, a huge gun strapped to her back. The little girl’s face turned from pained to serene, and the fires receded, leaving nothing but smouldering craters in the star-port choked with black smoke, as the young-woman rose from the ground, disoriented, bleeding. She was beautiful, with small dark eyes, pretty lips and a dainty nose, but muscular, broadly-built and strong, and her jaw dropped as she watched the little girl, who raised her other hand, deflecting plasma-blasts. The young-woman, curvaceous, strong, a kyber crystal knotted tightly around her throat, glowing in the firelight, stumbled toward the little girl, panting, grimacing in pain - cradling the little girl in her muscled arms as she collapsed, lifting her like something precious, yelling over her shoulder at another girl, an adolescent with blue eyes streaming with tears even as she wielded twin pistols, shooting anyone who came into view, shivering and shuddering with tangible grief as she ducked behind the body of an older woman with a delicate nose, beautiful lips and soft blue-green eyes, now sightless, her body shredded by shrapnel, blood pooled on the ground around her, riddled with bullet-holes. The blue-eyed girl - about the same age Rey was now - wept silently as she shot, grim-faced in spite of her tears, ducking behind…her _mother’s_ dead body for protection from retaliatory shots - Stormtroopers in perfect formation, bearing down on them, one carrying a launcher on their shoulders - as a small ship descended, loading-ramp already lowered. The blue-eyed girl covered her older sister, carrying the unconscious child, as she ran for the ship; her gasp of shock could be heard over the riotous explosions and gunfire as a dark-haired boy appeared inside the ship, reached for their youngest sister with shaky hands. He was bleeding profusely, his skin pale as death, and missing an eye, the wound fresh, gory, his face bloody, bruised and tear-stained - but he took the little girl, bundled her deeper into the bowels of the ship as the eldest sister turned and wielded her hefty gun to cover the blue-eyed sister’s mad dash, leaving their mother’s broken body behind, shaken by the knowledge that she had thrown herself in front of an explosion to protect her children, giving them a chance to escape, to _live_. The blue-eyed girl leapt, the eldest sister caught her by the hand, pulling her up, into the ship, the loading-ramp hissing shut as another girl, older than the youngest by a few years, dark-haired like all of them, and the prettiest of them all, touched her palm to the console, then sank to the floor, sobbing violently, but silently, as a droid approached the teenage boy with bacta and bandages, and a slender man with iron-grey hair and tired dark eyes wept silently in the pilot’s seat, focused and calm but for the steady stream of tears dripping onto his battered Rebel jacket, sending them into light-speed.

Tears shimmered in the eldest girl’s eyes, but they didn’t fall, as she watched the boy grimace, shudder and instinctively flinch from the droid advancing with the bacta. The youngest child cradled in her lap, she clamped a strong arm around his shoulders, keeping him still, and he cried out in pain, shuddering, as the droid tended to him. When he was bandaged, she rested her forehead against his in a quiet, calm moment of pure intimacy, gentling his shuddering, giving him her strength, and she reached her other hand for the blue-eyed sister whose face, while tear-stained and blood-splattered, was leeching of all emotion, not even the grim determination from the star-port. The younger girl sat, silent and withdrawn, beside the boy; he reached for her hand, holding it tenderly, but she didn’t seem to notice, her dark eyes glazed and unfocused.

“How did she do it?” the boy whispered, a shaking hand rising, never quite touching the bandage over what had been his right eye, as he turned the other - dark, warm and kind - onto the youngest child collapsed in their eldest sister’s embrace…

 _Rey_.

She gazed at her younger self, and a rush of grief and heart-breaking agony overwhelmed her, staring… _at_ _her family_ …

As they dissolved, Rey yelled for them, chasing after them - for the young-woman wearing her crystal and holding her as if she was the most precious thing in the galaxy - but the ribbons of starlight in the blackness of space in light-speed were replaced…searing, unrelenting light burned down on a skinny youth with golden hair, toiling over the wreckage of a pod-racer, ignoring his friends’ good-natured teasing, until a dark-haired woman with kind eyes and a gentle smile appeared, calling him to supper. He ran off, to tell his mother about the improvements he had made - “ _Next time I race,_ ” he declared, utterly self-assured, “ _I’ll win_!”

The pod-racer rippled and morphed into a sleek carrier, its loading-ramp down, the sounds of thousands of marching footsteps thunderous as clones, armed and trained, filled transports to be despatched across the galaxy…

In a moonlit desert valley, screams echoed off the canyon walls, a single blue-white light competing with the moonlight, shedding its light over horror - men and droids cut down, dismembered…women and children, cut down with brutal, merciless efficiency… A tall young man, his body coiled with tension, wrapped a dark-haired woman’s body in a shroud, the whimpers and cries of the dying slowly fading…

A voice, shaky, but determined, “ _We’ll take the next chance…and the next…on and on until we win, or the chances are spent_ …”

A young woman appeared, her glossy dark hair braided around her head like a crown, rubbing her swollen belly as she sat on a large bed, papers strewn around her, and Rey watched her glance up at a roguish, restless man with a thigh-holster, saying, “Drafts of bills advocating clone personhood; a motion to protect hyperspace lanes from unjust taxation by bringing them under the purview of the Republic; a motion to reinstate term limits for the chancellorship; and _years’_ worth of antislavery legislature - she was the most prolific lawmaker of her time, she was a _fierce_ advocate for democracy. _This_ is my parents’ legacy. All of them. Not just Breha and Bail but Padmé Amidala, too. We will rebuild a new Senate, and a new Republic, from the foundations up, ensuring they are strong, and cannot be corroded - and ensure no-one ever again can strip the galaxy of its liberty!”

The roguish man smiled, looking fond and relaxed, and his eyes twinkled teasingly as he said, “I’ll bet you anything that raising a Senate’ll be a whole lot easier than raising my kid!” The woman’s laugh echoed, her smile gentle, sweet, feisty, as the roguish man approached her, dipping his face to surprise her, capturing a kiss…

The chamber melted away, leaving a sandy beach, crystal-clear blue-green water stretching to a horizon churning with fiery waves tall as buildings. A battered couple held hands on the sun-soaked beach, younger than they were last time Rey saw them, beautiful but battered, both hurting but relaxed, content, gazing fondly into each other’s eyes - his dark and sharp, hers blue-green, wistful - they embraced, fierce and intimate, grateful for each other, but were startled by the sound of roaring engines approaching - the man’s smile was shocked, grinning; he grabbed the woman’s hand as tears slipped down her cheeks, and they ran for the _Zeta_ -class cargo-shuttle as the tidal wave roared ever closer…

A man’s anguished declaration echoed through her head, “I can’t - I can’t _live without her_ …”

A young man - _her_ young-man, tall and gangly, his hair dark, shorter than it had been in the burning building, lay shuddering in his neat cot, tears slipping from his eyes, which were clamped shut, hands pressed over his ears. In another cot, a bald-headed boy snuffled and snored in his sleep, oblivious to the emotional anguish and torture endured by his roommate, who struggled to catch his breath…

The stocky, pretty-eyed woman reappeared, fractionally older, hair tucked away from her face by dainty little braids above her ears, and she was smiling gently, her eyes warm, as she draped a kyber crystal around a little girl’s neck - _Rey’s_ neck; Rey reached up, touching the amulet she had never taken off, and watched as the older woman knotted the cord around little Rey’s throat. She couldn’t be older than five or six - this was a couple of years after the bombing of the star-port, Rey recognised instantly. Her face was still undeniably young, especially compared to the mature beauty of _her sister_. “Here,” she said, as little Rey’s lower-lip quivered, her hazel eyes bright with unshed tears; she was shivering in her own little bed, looking like she had just woken from a nightmare, and her sister looked like she had just come from a battleground - or maybe a training-session, relaxed and content. She adjusted the kyber crystal neatly on little Rey’s chest. “As long as you wear this, nothing bad will happen to you,” she promised.

“But what about you?” little Rey sniffled, her tone agonised, tears now dripping down her face, and the older woman smiled through a grimace, understanding more than the tiny little girl ever could - heart-broken by the thoughtfulness and innate sweetness of the little girl’s worry, her eyes darkening as she reflected on things Rey couldn’t remember that made her pretty lips tighten, a muscle in her jaw ticking. Little Rey didn’t see her older sister’s worry, as the older woman drew her close, resting her forehead against Rey’s, focusing on steadying their breathing in rhythm, in sync with each other, comfort drifting from her like an embrace, intimate…

A man’s handsome, solemn voice said softly, right in her ear, “ _Every Jedi who ever lived lives in you_ …”

She stumbled upon another midnight slaughter, a rain-washed battlefield scattered with the bodies of the fallen, six masked warriors convening, their harrowing weapons despatching the last of their victims, everything washed with blood-red as a violent, unstable weapon of fire and light hissed and spat, the light flickering eerily in the rumbling lightning and thrashing rain, casting eerie shadows more unsettling than the men in the masks. A seventh, the tallest of them, severed an arm with a sweep of his brutal lightsaber, turning as she stumbled back in shock. Lightning flashed over his mask, illuminating the silvered details over the brow, breath-taking and harrowing, sleek, evocative and predatory, and he strode toward her - his movements precise, emanating aggression, violence and fierce intent. She stumbled over a dead body, falling, as a voice sighed, “ _These…are your first…steps_ …”

She fell, and choked as lightning forked the sky, ships plummeting toward the earth between hulking _Destroyers_ \- thousands of them, one after another, endless, beyond a violent blackened horizon silvered by eerie lightning… She shivered, and cried out - and fell away, the ships disappearing into blackness, stripping away everything, but for the sensation of _falling_ , as if she had missed a step on rusted metal plating in an abandoned _Destroyer_ on Jakku, falling, falling - weightless, disoriented, surrounded by impenetrable darkness, terror rising in her, panic gripping her lungs, squeezing her heart to the point of agony, anguish, terror, pain and desperation wrenching a scream from her, unending - but it wasn’t _her_ scream, _her_ voice…male, young, frantic and in agony, falling - drowning in darkness, entrancing flickers of light, twinkling out of reach, whipped away too quickly, each one of them ripping wounds through her that gaped, sore, festering, unable to heal, and she wept, sobbing, reaching for each one, flinching in terror at what _she_ had done…but it wasn’t _her_ screaming…

Finally, she stopped falling. She felt the violent judder of impact through her bones as her feet landed on uneven ground, a snow-strewn woodland at night, snow billowing around her face, cold, stinging, but somehow soft, the vicious spitting vibration of a familiar blood-red lightsaber her only warning as the masked man from before descended upon her, saber raised - she yelled out, falling back - sprawling on a time-worn stone floor, gasping and choking for breath, shuddering and covered in cold sweat.

For a very long time, or perhaps only seconds, Rey lay on her back, shuddering, staring at the shadowy ceiling of Maz Kanata’s storeroom.

The lightsaber was clenched in her hand, her knuckles white.

It occurred to her fleetingly that, throughout that entire experience - whatever it had been - she had not carried the Jedi blade with her.

Sprawled on her back, the smooth stone cold against her skin, bringing clarity, grounding her, Rey’s lip trembled, her eyes burning. Tears trickled from her eyes, tickling her skin, and for a moment, she let it wash over her - her grief, her _fear_ , her confusion…her family’s _faces_ …

The sound of soft padding footsteps shot through her like a plasma bolt, jerking upright, shoving the lightsaber back into its box as the storeroom door pushed itself open, and a tiny figure shuffled into the chamber, her goggles gleaming in the half-light. Blinking sweat - and tears - out of her eyes, Rey’s entire body ached as if she had just been in a brutal training-session with Chirrut, and she let out a choked breath, unashamed of the tears splashing down her cheeks - because this was Maz, and the ancient humanoid lifted her goggles from her eyes, revealing tiny, wrinkled eyes that had seen empires rise and fall and still retained a glint of irony and warmth… Maz emerged out of the shadows, her bracelets tinkling, her expression drenched in compassion.

“I’m sorry,” Rey apologised sincerely, her voice as hoarse as if she had been screaming for hours…perhaps she had. If there was a lesson to be taken from this, it was to never touch unfamiliar things, especially those that did not belong to her. Rey would not make the mistake again. She had disrespected the sanctity of Maz’s private chambers, invaded her privacy and rummaged through her things as if this was nothing more than another downed _Destroyer_ , free pickings for any scavenger who needed to earn their rations…

Rey had never been ashamed of how she had survived; now, she felt embarrassed.

How had Maz known to find her down here?

Maz gazed from her to the box; she reached past Rey to open the lid, a soft sigh escaping her tiny mouth as the hilt of the lightsaber caught the light. It looked like just another piece of junk. Pieces of metal welded together - her scavenger-mechanic’s eye couldn’t help but notice how exquisite the soldering work was, almost imperceptibly joined. _Exquisite_ craftsmanship. Utterly harrowing.

The ancient humanoid lifted the lightsaber gently from the box, turning it over in her leathery palms as she gazed thoughtfully at it. Rey pulled her legs up, hugging them, still shivering, and gazed up at Maz, blurry through her tears.

“I felt it…I _saw_ it - that…” Rey gulped, her hand shaking as she reached up to push the tears from her eyes, and she hiccoughed, shivering, “that lightsaber committed _unspeakable_ atrocities.”

Maz’s tiny eyes were kind when they rested on Rey’s face. Her tiny, withered face was open, inviting - comforting. She reached out her three-fingered hand, tenderly brushing tears from Rey’s cheeks. “We are what this world makes of us, dear child. A saber is a weapon, yes…and also a tool.” Rey thought back, to the vision of the tall, skinny boy using his lightsaber to cut through stone and steel to free the children in the burning building. “Yet either way it must be _wielded_ ; it makes no decisions for itself. The saber takes its reputation from its master.”

“Then how -?” Rey gulped - how had the lightsaber… _drawn_ her to it? “What was it that I saw?”

Maz didn’t answer for a little while. She gazed at Rey, shuddering on the floor. Finally, she said softly, “Things that _were_ …things that _are_ …some things that shall be…some that never were… You saw nothing more, and nothing less, than _truth_ … Light and Dark, the Force is all things in exquisite balance…there is no guise, no coercion, only simple, devastating truth. I cannot know what it is the Force showed you through that saber. Only know this; visions are like trusting a poorly-trained orbaks. They are all very well, until they kick you in the head.”

“I don’t even know if any of it was real,” Rey whispered, hot tears trickling down her cheeks, stinging, as she recalled the faces…the faces of her _family_. The dark-eyed woman; the blue-eyed girl; the boy with his lost eye; the pretty little girl…the slender man with steel-grey hair, silently weeping, as if he couldn’t stop himself and made no effort to try…

“Real?” Maz blinked, looking almost affronted. A soft smile lifted the corners of her mouth, amused. “Of course it was real.”

“But it was…wasn’t it only in my head?” Rey sniffed, wiping her face on her sashes.

“Of course, but why ever should that mean it wasn’t real?” Maz said warmly, leaving Rey even more confused. Maz sighed, gazing into her face. “You waited, all these long years…and now it is time. There is no going back, dearest, but you already know that. The ones you have waited for could have had no idea where you were…could never have returned for you. But there is still someone who could come back.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Rey gulped, even as her mind flashed to the dark-eyed boy, screaming with shock, confusion and grief as he laid the little Togruta girl down, her body broken…

“I see your eyes…as I have seen them in another,” Maz said softly, _sadly_ , and Rey’s eyelashes fluttered with the effort to maintain eye-contact with the ancient being, so utterly unused to such intimacy. “Vulnerable…so desperately alone, yearning… The belonging you seek is not behind you - it is ahead.”

“How do you know?” Rey whispered, though she felt it herself. There was no _going back_ for her, not now.

“I am no Jedi, but I know the Force,” Maz said, and her beautiful voice took on a whimsical, dreamlike quality, rapturous. “It moves through and surrounds every living thing.” She smiled, as her eyes closed. “Close your eyes…feel it…the Light…it’s always been there. It will guide you, as it always has.” Rey closed her eyes, and felt…calm…strength and peace sighed over her, gentling her terror at the visions, her grief at the faces of her family, her pining for the boy in the fire… When she opened her eyes, Maz had already turned to the curio box, the lid open. She gazed at the lightsaber, as if seeing more than just an art of faith and engineering lost to the past. Maz lifted the saber into her palms, and Rey’s breath hitched - but there was no reaction from the humanoid; Maz simply turned to Rey, her face pensive. “This lightsaber…it was Luke Skywalker’s, and his father’s before him… Many years, I have kept it, wondering…now, it _calls_ to _you_ …” She offered the lightsaber to Rey: It looked bigger, in Maz’s delicate hands. “Take it. It is yours, now, as it was always meant to be.”

“I can’t - I _won’t_ touch that thing again,” Rey shuddered, even as her family’s faces flickered through her mind, and she wondered…would touching the saber again open her mind to more visions of them? “I don’t want this.”

Whatever _this_ was…

Maz’s smile was compassionate, almost pained. Her voice was gentle but rang with hidden iron as she held the saber out. “And that is why you must take it,” she said solemnly. “It is up to you what you do now, Rey. This lightsaber…it is up to _you_ how you wield it, the legacy you create with it. Use it, or not, but it has called to you. You were meant to have it. And that is a comforting thought.”

“How?” Rey croaked.

“You want to know your place in all things, dear one,” Maz said softly, kindly. “It is time you decided for yourself.”

After a long moment, gazing at Maz’s kind, ancient face, Rey admitted hoarsely, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I shall share a secret learned over a thousand years…no-one does,” Maz said, her eyes twinkling, and she chuckled softly as she smiled. “All we have is our choices. What we decide to do with the time that is given to us. What are you going to do with yours, Rey?” She smiled kindly again, and set the lightsaber back into the curio box. She left the lid open, as if in invitation. Rey got the impression that Maz would never force the lighstaber on her. But Maz believed the lightsaber was meant to go to Rey; she would leave it up to Rey to take it, or not, but make sure Rey had access to it if she chose to claim it.

“Go, take a walk,” Maz said coaxingly, turning away from the open curio chest. She touched Rey’s shoulder gently. “You look like you need some fresh air. Walk the lakeshore. Focus, on the Light…let it soothe you, guide you…it will provide more clarity and comfort than I ever could.”

And with that, Maz left, shuffling out of the storeroom.

Rey took a few deep breaths, calming herself down, before wiping off her face and standing up. She was unsteady on her feet, lightheaded, but walked it off. BB-8 beeped softly, concerned, and trailed after her. She had to help him back up the flights of steps to the carpeted corridor, and that took a while, using her strength and his grapple-hooks. She used a smaller entrance out of the main parlour, and found herself in sweeping kitchen-gardens groaning with an abundance of fruit and vegetables, edible plants, fowl pecking around, thousands of different plants Rey had never heard of, and paused to admire, and investigate, much as she wished she could have done in the woods earlier. She wondered briefly if Han or Finn was worried where she was; but then reasoned that Maz would likely tell Han what had happened.

Han already wanted to send her to Leia Organa to train as a Jedi!

But if training as a Jedi meant wielding that lightsaber, scarred by such atrocities… She sighed, shaking her head, and kept exploring the raised beds, wandering through the walled gardens, until she came upon the lakeshore. Water shimmered and sparkled in the gentle sun, rippling gently in the breeze, water spreading as far as Rey could see, to a horizon where mountains rose above gentle green hills. The water lapped at the shore, which was overgrown with grasses taller than her, water-flowers glowing amid the green and pale-yellow and soft golds, the soil dark and rich beneath her feet as she squatted at the edge of the lake, peering into the water. Silver flashed and flickered beneath the surface of the water.

And she took Maz’s advice. She wandered the lakeshore, feeling the warmth of the sun chase away the chill from the breeze coming off the snow-capped mountains, cool over the water. Occasionally, she heard the roar of engines as someone landed at the star-port, but she focused, not on that sound, or the memories the saber had ripped from the forgotten recesses of her mind, but on the gentle lapping of the water, the exquisite sigh of the breeze through the tall grasses, the leaves of the woods, the smell of the clean, fresh water, and she paused, sinking into the feeling, the _light_ …if the woods had been alive, then so was the lake. Alive, riotous - frenzied with activity, perfectly contained chaos, life and death, as with the woods…death feeding life… She hadn’t known things could live in water like this. But the lake was churning with life, with light…and shadows, too…neither light nor dark was allowed to dominate, a perfect balance maintained through constant struggle…

Exquisitely attuned to the Force all around her, Rey felt it.

She heard them - millions of voices…crying out in undiluted terror…suddenly silenced. She stumbled, falling to her knees, disoriented and in pain, a hand pressed over her heart, which felt as if it was breaking.

She heard him, a soft voice, anguished and self-loathing, murmuring a broken, _Alderaan_ …

BB-8 nudged her. Poked his head against her shoulder as she shivered, bereft, confused… She blinked, panting, and focused on him; the droid turned his photoreceptor to the skies, and Rey gaped, awestruck and horrified… Across the galaxy, anyone who turned their eyes to the sky would be able to see it… Where once had been planets, there were now only pocket novas. Beams of violent red light were still visible, phantom energy ripping through sub-hyperspace…

She had felt them. Heard their cries - _felt_ their deaths…the Force thrown off-balance…

“Who were they?” she breathed, gaping up at the blue sky now pockmarked by violent red explosions…

BB-8 beeped softly, _The Hosnian System_.

The Hosnian System. Planets Cardota, Courtsilius, Hosnian, Hosnian Prime and Raysho.

The home of the New Republic and Senate.

“They murdered the New Republic,” she wheezed, failing to catch her breath. BB-8 cooed sadly. She reached out a shaky hand, pressing it against his body. Could droids react to physical comfort? She had never known any droids like BB-8 to wonder, but he cooed a soft moan, resting his head against her shoulder. She gazed up at the sky, at what had once been five thriving planets in the Core Worlds, the heart and home of the New Republic.

 _I was born there_ , BB-8 beeped mournfully.

“What sort of weapon could _do_ that?” Rey moaned, anguished. To create a rip through sub-hyperspace that all the galaxy could see…to _destroy five planets_ near-instantaneously…

 _How_ …?

She could not wrap her mind around it - the sheer scale of devastation was…incomprehensible…

BB-8 beeped solemnly, and Rey turned to stare at him. The little droid tilted its head at her, photoreceptor flashing in the gentle sunlight…

She sat down on her bottom, gazing out over the lake. It was perfect. Peaceful, tranquil, even as the planet was constantly at war, striving, the shadows and the light…yet it looked absolutely perfect. Gazing out over the picturesque lake, the rolling hills and snow-capped mountains…she could almost be forgiven for thinking that nothing atrocious ever happened… It was absurd to realise that in the midst of such devastation...there were places in which absolutely _nothing_ was happening…

The Hosnian System was obliterated - but planets like Takodana still existed, still thrived…places like Maz’s castle were still rich with music and laughter…

But everywhere across the galaxy, Rey knew…people would look to the skies, perhaps mistaking the exploding planets for burning comets…and they would realise…

It was a declaration of war. Of the First Order’s intent. For years, they had been aggressing the galaxy through shadow proxies - to the point that Rey, growing up in the deserts of Jakku, had heard of the First Order as a threat to all the New Republic was building in the wake of the corrupt, militaristic, dictatorial Empire crumbling at the hands of the Rebel Alliance.

Until a few days ago, Jakku had been beneath the First Order’s notice, the junkyard of the galaxy.

Until a few days ago, the First Order had been nothing more than a whisper, the threat of violence comfortably far away and therefore, little more than hearsay and fearmongering…

Today, there could be no mistaking the First Order’s intent.

Like the obliteration of Alderaan, and the destruction of the Death Star during the Battle of Yavin, today…would define history. It would define the _future_.

The galaxy now knew just what the First Order stood for…and there was no-one to stand in their way: They had destroyed the New Republic with the press of a button.

Who could stop them? Who would _dare_ stand against them?

Rey glanced at the little droid, his photoreceptor still focused on the pocket novas they could see across the entire galaxy.

“We’ve got to get you to the Resistance,” she said softly, and BB-8 made a determined noise.

She couldn’t help wonder if the destruction of the Hosnian System wasn’t…wasn’t a response to BB-8’s continued evasion of the First Order. Whether the map he held…was worth all those lives - millions of people, burned from the galaxy as if they had never existed.

Rey had to think that the First Order had destroyed the Hosnian System because they dreaded what the Resistance could do, with the support of the New Republic, once they declared their intent for all to see. Easier to eradicate the greatest threat to their tyrannical occupation of planets throughout the galaxy… But the _ease_ with which they had done it…

This was how people had felt after Alderaan.

The nova that had once been Alderaan had created the spark that lit the fire that burned down an Empire.

Leia Organa, last Princess of Alderaan, had led the Rebellion with little more than _hope_. Lor San Tekka said the fires that destroyed her home had fuelled the fight in General Organa, who had led the Rebellion through its most trying times, a pillar of strength, compassion and hard-earned wisdom…

Now General Organa led the Resistance, in the shadow war with the First Order. She wanted whatever map BB-8 was carrying. Rey raised her eyes again to the five nova stars burning violently in the gentle blue sky, and suddenly understood why so many Rebels had been willing to die to destroy the Death Star. Why they had fought until their chances were spent - until they could give nothing else but their lives in the fight…to ensure the freedom of whoever survived.

She closed her eyes, breathing deeply - her breaths came shakily, painful in her chest - and focused on the Light…let it caress her, coaxing and gentle, soothing… It helped, a balm for the ache in her heart where millions of voices crying out in terror had left a scar, fresh and still painful.

The birds startled her from her meditation. Thousands of birds, rising from the woods behind her in great flocks, all of them shrieking out in alarm.

They sensed what BB-8’s photoreceptor picked up seconds later… _TIE/fo_ and _TIE/sf Fighters_ , armoured _AAL_ transporters, and a customised _Upsilon_ -class command shuttle…

Rey glanced at BB-8, who beeped in dread. “Into the woods - quickly. We need to find cover!” BB-8 trilled, as Rey dashed for the cover of the woods - sunlight dappled the damp, mossy ground, as she heard the tell-tale shrieks of the _TIE_ engines, and the first of the explosions. Running into the woods, determining that fleeing into the trees was wiser than remaining out in the open at the lakeshore, BB-8 kept pace with her easily, skimming over the damp underbrush, as the ground shook with a volley of explosions. “They’re targeting the star-port!”

BB-8 beeped. “Yes - we need to get to the _Falcon_! Han made berth in that meadow for a reason - those First Order ships won’t even know it’s there.” BB-8 beeped, and Rey faltered. “Leave without the others? I… BB-8, the Resistance needs that map, especially now. I - I would think Han Solo would understand it better than anyone. He’d…he’d forgive us for leaving them behind.” BB-8 beeped. “No, I don’t want to leave them, either. But you’re far more important than what we _want_.”

Leave Han and Chewie - leave _Finn_ … Was this what it meant to be the Resistance - making impossible choices, in spite of - _because of_ \- her own wants and desires?

The woods opened up into a clearing - Rey stopped short, BB-8 bumping into the backs of her legs, beeping softly, as Rey gaped. Unfamiliar in her surroundings, she had run straight toward the star-port, now overrun with white-armoured Stormtroopers, actively engaged with people she recognised from inside Maz’s cantina, amid the explosions and gunfire from circling TIE Fighters.

The Stormtroopers did not seem to care who they hit, or what their political affiliations were: They shot to kill, and gained more and more targets as Maz’s patrons spilled out of the castle, drawn out to the sound of aircraft and explosions. They were under attack, and it was a reflection on the pirate queen that tiny Maz led the vanguard, wielding a weapon heavier than she was, a jetpack strapped over her shoulders, goggles flashing menacingly as her tiny mouth was drawn into a grim line, ordering those around her into action - this castle was her home, her livelihood, and she would defend it, and her patrons, even if they had to fight for their lives. And people responded.

It wasn’t a slaughter. There was a reason Maz’s one rule in her castle was _No fighting_ : It was the one place her dangerous patrons could relax.

Now, they were angry.

A bulky red freighter was targeted, obliterated - the force of the explosion flung Rey off her feet, her ears ringing, still sensitive from the explosions at Niima Outpost - she stumbled back, hand pressed to her ear, and dodged a vivid bolt of plasma as one of the Stormtroopers noticed her. She whipped out the pistol Han had given her, undid the safety, and shot wildly, already ducking back under the cover of the trees, BB-8 trilling anxiously.

She heard the crackle of a comms system, saw a flash of pristine, shining white in the pervasive green of the woods, and glanced to her right - another Stormtrooper. She dodged the plasma bolt, shooting once, the shot wide, and twice, her eyes shut - it struck, blasting the soldier off their feet, searing an angry hole into the useless armour, the soldier sprawled in the undergrowth.

Panting, Rey stared at the pistol Han had given her.

She had never killed anyone before.

And, her eyes burning, the cries and screams of massacred children echoing in her mind, the force of the exploding ships in the star-port reverberating in her belly, triggering her memories of the star-port, her family, her mother’s body riddled with shrapnel from exploding ships… it felt _too_ _easy_. Pull the trigger: That was it. Detached, impersonal. She hadn’t even thought about it.

It was no wonder the Stormtroopers seemed so inhumane.

BB-8 chirped urgently, and she ducked more plasma blasts, yelling as trees were scored with fiery wounds, dirt exploding at her side, and BB-8 cooed at her to keep up, he had run diagnostics on a route to the _Falcon_ to avoid Stormtroopers gathering to their left.

“You have to keep going, BB-8 - stay out of sight,” Rey panted, feeling something in her ankle twinge as she tumbled down a slick slope knotted with ancient roots and burrows and clumps of chandelier primroses, momentarily losing her footing. She knelt down to BB-8’s level. “I’ll draw them away - they’ve seen us together, they’ll think you’re still with me. Wait until the Troopers have left - then find Han and Chewie, if you can, or Maz, if you can’t.”

 _I hope you stay safe_ , BB-8 chirped.

“I hope so, too,” Rey panted, testing her weight on her ankle. It wasn’t twisted, thankfully. She was just uncertain in this terrain, had to be more careful. “Go on, BB-8. I’ll see you soon.” She watched the droid rolling indecisively on his gyrospheres, beeping softly, then he rolled away, determined.

Rey took a moment to catch her breath, checking the pistol clenched in her hand, and tried to decide what to do. Go back to the star-port, let herself be seen…or head deeper into the woods, hoping whoever had seen her gave chase anyway.

The woods were utterly alien terrain. Sound moved differently, to the point where she could not tell where she was in relation to the star-port, or Maz’s castle, or the meadow where Chewie waited with the _Falcon_. The simplest solution was to head in the opposite direction to BB-8.

That was when she heard it, amid the natural sounds of the woods - birds calling, mammals snuffling, rushing about in the undergrowth to escape notice, the rush of the leaves in the breeze… The sound of violent hissing that instantly filled her with dread, reminded of the violent scarlet lightsaber…that was the sound, eerie and fragmented in the woods…

And there…

She gulped, her heart aching… _Him_.

As she had felt him the other night in Jakku, the night the sacred village of Tuanul had been massacred…she felt it…calling to her, a promise - of… _home_ … She stifled a moan of longing - for it had never felt stronger. Dangerous, insistent, gentle, coaxing - she wanted it; it felt… _right_. The connection…the _presence_ whispering through her mind since childhood, a more tangible presence inside her own mind now than what she had yet experienced, power and danger and exquisite oneness, _relief_ … A wave of familiarity, of yearning, of _desire_ overwhelmed her, making her knees weak, and she choked on a gasp at the heady sensation of it - of _his_ appreciation of his finally sensing her. _Her_.

He was searching for her.

And for a heartbeat, Rey reached out to him.

Her breath rushed from her lungs, met by a maelstrom of rage, grief, _need_ , confusion, despair, loneliness - so tangible, so all-consuming it shocked her, the pent-up energy threatening to explode, making her dizzy, frustration and anguish, torment and doubt in furious, eternal conflict.

With a gasp, she withdrew, closed herself off - ran, and hid, in a small crevasse concealed by the gnarled roots of ancient trees. It grew, as she ducked along it, dodging tangled plants laden with red flowers that sent up billows of rich perfume as she rushed past, the sun dappling her path, avoiding boulders and tangled, thorny vines creeping along the ground, a small reddish animal skittering away in fright, scrambling up the wall of the ravine with ease, and she startled a nest of birds, who shrieked and shot into the air - she grimaced, continuing on, knowing her path was being marked by the creatures she disturbed in her haste to escape.

But anyone would run from what she had felt was pursuing her. Her terror was making her incautious - she couldn’t help it.

It was that noise…the hissing, spitting, ominous sound of rage and aggression, a _weapon_.

As she took her bearings, Rey felt it… _anticipation_.

Just a flicker, a wink of starlight, easily missed in an explosion of fire and grief and rage - but it was so unexpected, amid that violent turmoil threatening to choke her, that it was just enough to startle her into a sudden calm.

 _Anticipation_ … _excitement_ … _hope_ …

She felt it.

 _Him_.

She felt his excitement, his…hope…a tremendous sense of _calm_ settling over her, _relief_ … His. As if a little voice inside her head was quietly crying, _I’ve found you at last_ …

She had felt it, too. She had even reached for it - for _him_ \- and recoiled at what she had felt. Nothing but pain. But now, calm…determination, a sense of purpose filled her, gentling everything else. Everything but that heightened sense of anticipation.

Rey scanned the woods, pistol raised, listening… She heard it, the hissing, violent weapon - and shot with her pistol out of pure instinct as a hulking male appeared, swathed in dark fabric, the silvery details of his ominous helmet gleaming in the sunlight, reflecting the scarlet of his saber, swinging the vicious crimson lightsaber to deflect each plasma blast with ease.

Horrified - she had seen him in the visions the lightsaber had given her, he had _chased_ her in one of them - Rey ran backwards, wary of her footing, scanning for an escape even as she sent plasma blasts his way. He gave chase, his movements predatory but slow, purposeful - almost casual, as if he was playing with her, striding after her, deflecting plasma blasts with a lazy flick of his wrist, his volatile weapon hissing and spitting crimson light, a living flame turned into a hateful weapon.

She clambered up a rise, shooting plasma blasts even as she realised he used his lightsaber only defensively - he could have chased her down and rent her in two with ease. But he didn’t. He let her climb out of the crevasse, onto level ground dotted with wildflowers, the scent of moss rising as she disturbed the undergrowth, birds trilling and shrieking and fluttering from their perches and nests as she ran, and the man followed, his strides slow.

It was futile, shooting him, she knew it even as she sent blast after blast toward him: he deflected them all with such ease, it was almost funny.

He rose from the crevasse, the light picking out the details in the rich fabric of his cowl, the gleaming details of that horrifying mask, and Rey’s awareness of him was suddenly heightened - he was enormous. Towering over her, swathed in darkness, and emanating a brutal kind of calm, like a predator anticipating their kill.

He shot out a gloved hand, and Rey’s breath was stolen from her lungs as she felt all control over her own body seized from her, by…the _Force_ … He wielded it like a weapon, rendering her incapable of independent movement. She couldn’t make a noise. Couldn’t move. Her right arm was tucked behind her, the pistol aimed at the ground, and she shivered and shook, panic overriding everything else, paralysed with dread. A scream began in the pit of her stomach, filling every part of her, as she realised she couldn’t even move her eyes, couldn’t blink. Could do nothing as he approached, easily a foot taller than her, broad-shouldered, long-legged, with a thick torso concealed beneath dark, tailored clothing... Her eyes started to tear as panic and fear overwhelmed her, unable to focus on anything but her paralysis as he slowly approached…

She had never been…utterly, _utterly_ vulnerable like this. Helpless. Locked inside her own mind.

His voice was modified through his helmet. She heard him, startled by how calm he sounded.

“ _The girl I’ve heard so much about_ ,” he said, and Rey wished she could blink the tears from her eyes. Wished she could move - could _run_ \- could…could forget that this… _this_ was _him_ , the one she had been called to, the night of the Tuanul Massacre. _Him_ she had sensed. His nearness that had entranced her. It couldn’t be him. This _monster_.

In that moment, she remembered herself.

“ _Feel it…the Light…it’s always been there. It will guide you, as it always has_ ,” Maz had told her: She couldn’t close her eyes, but Rey…could feel it. Locked inside her own mind, all she could do was reach out with it. With her mind, with the Force, letting the Light caress her, fill her, emanate from her, and she sucked in a gasp of breath as the pressure of his hold lessened - just a tiny bit, but it was exquisitely liberating, to blink, shedding the tears from her eyes, clearing her vision, and she let the light wash over her, creating a fractionally thin barrier between her and his hold over her.

She started to push, flexing, shedding his fierce grip on her, an infinitesimal amount, but enough that she could breathe through the panic suffusing her body, letting oxygen in, letting _light_ in…

“The droid,” he said quietly, approaching her, wandering behind her - to unnerve her, unable to track his movements - and Rey focused, not on her dread but on the light rippling across her skin, loosening his hold painstakingly over seconds…

She would never be able to get away from him, but she wouldn’t be held enslaved to him. Not if there was anything she could do about it.

Out of her peripheral vision, she saw it, gasped, her eyelashes fluttering at the nearness, as the hissing, volatile blade of crimson light speared through the air beside her head, close enough she could feel the heat of it caressing her skin, and he asked her, quietly, “ _Where is it_?”

She didn’t breathe a word.

She heard the man sigh softly. After a few seconds, the blade disappeared, the absence of its noise shifting focus back to the woodlands around them, birds trilling to each other, the trees sighing in the breeze - distantly, they heard explosions. The battle raged on.

And here they were in the woods…just the two of them.

She sensed rather than saw him circle her, until he reappeared before her, a violent slash of darkness in the tranquillity of the woods: His lightsaber had been clasped on his wide leather belt. Perhaps it was his nearness, or the fact she couldn’t read his facial expressions, hidden behind that horrendous mask, but Rey became acutely aware that the physical hold on her body was _his_.

 _His_ mind, wrapped tightly around _her_ body.

It was…agonisingly intimate.

She flushed hotly, all too aware of her body, and his power over it.

He raised his hand, making Rey’s heart stutter, and she felt it.

Gentle, at first, like the scrape of fingernails against her skin, then firmer, leaving a trail of embers, simmering, not painful but making her toes curl, and she panted as the embers grew, searing through a wall in her mind she hadn’t known was there. And then… _him_. She tasted it, his ferociousness, his passion and dread, rage and despair - and shivered in reaction as his presence overwhelmed her mind, and she clung on to the light, to her resistance of his control over her body - blinded by his presence, darkness billowing through her mind. Another silent scream rose in the back of her mind - of fear, of anger at the violation - and she fought to keep hold of the glimmer of light caressing her body, the faintest hint of resistance as she tried to throw off his control, as he rifled through her memories.

Flashes of her life on Jakku; the Wookiee; the feel of damp moss between her fingers; waiting for her bread to rise; her first taste of _aisa_ , the lingering savouriness of Maz’s spicy noodles; the scent of the red flowers as she brushed past them, running from him; the chirp of BB-8 as he projected a holo of her lullaby inside the AT-AT; the serenity that suffused her body as she let the Force guide her, deflecting the plasma, controlling the Rathtar; BB-8, projecting the hologram of the map inside the cabin while Finn slept above her, snoring and snuffling in his sleep while she sewed; her family’s faces.

At that, his rage and grief became her own, determined. She drew in the light. Ferocious crimson darkness - _his_ \- anger, pain, dread - warred inside her mind against searing golden-silver light, ripples of it suffusing her mind, chasing away shadows, drenching her in light, enveloping the figure of a man, a fathomless shadow burning like embers, flickering with fire and lightning - the tiniest glints of _light_ sparkling amid the impenetrable darkness - and she reached for one of them, in spite of herself, a dark-eyed woman with a beautiful smile flashed across her mind, the sound of her laughter rich, teasing.

He flinched, and she felt it.

He withdrew, startled, leaving her panting with exertion, and shaken by the violation of her mind.

“ _The map_ ,” he said, after a moment. “ _You’ve seen it_.”

She heard the static of a comms device, the rattle of armour, and sensed two humans approaching.

“ _Sir, Resistance fighters_ ,” came the muffled voice of a man behind her. “ _We need more troops_.”

Resistance fighters! Rey’s heart leapt - BB-8 would be able to get his map to the Resistance base after all!

“Pull the division out,” came the answering order, the deceptively calm voice behind the mask. “Forget the droid… We have what we need.”

Dread settled in her stomach like a stone.

He had _her_.

* * *

Ren reached out, gently brushing against her mind, and the girl collapsed, unconscious; he caught her before she could hit the ground, lifting her effortlessly into his arms, relieved to finally have her in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a lot of things inspired the interaction with Maz: Gandalf, Dumbledore, Galadriel, Moana’s grandmother Tala - all the greats. I hope you enjoyed the vision sequence, if ‘enjoy’ is the right word - it took me a while to get it right.


	9. Bonded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have questions. Did all the students of Luke’s school die? Apparently there are books/comics suggesting some of the older ones were on a mission when the temple was destroyed, and went after Ben, only for one to accidentally be killed, and Ben killed another in self-defence. So my question is: Could some of them have survived in the movie-verse? I’ve decided, yes.
> 
> Also, Kylo Ren references cloned armies in The Force Awakens. And why the hell is there only one Resistance base operational at one time? Why not build up bases, so that if one is destroyed - say, because the First Order has developed light-speed tracking - then the Resistance is not snuffed out?
> 
> Also, I’m changing some Anakanon - see what I did there?! …I’m so sorry… I’m changing some details about Anakin’s past, primarily, that he was about 14/15 when Qui-Gon Jinn discovered him, because I’ve worked with nine-year-olds and they’re still malleable to the Jedi’s indoctrination process! - but a teenager? And Padmé Amidala was apparently fourteen in Phantom Menace, which makes it easier for me to believe the two formed a connection.
> 
> The Resistance seems to have become very human in the sequels. That’s one thing I do miss from the prequels; the sheer variety of humanoids and aliens.

**I Am Yours, You Are Mine**

_09_

_Bonded_

* * *

He had never known anything but military bases - from his earliest memories training, to his assignment on Ilum, but this… The Resistance base wasn’t what he had imagined it would be. But then, Finn had only ever been fed propaganda created by the First Order to paint themselves as saviours of a galaxy brought to its knees by chaos…

And the base did seem at first glance to be chaotic - yet the more he looked, the more Finn realised that everyone knew their place, and what was expected of them. What struck Finn wasn’t how different protocol was for mechanical repairs as pilots disembarked, because it wasn’t.

It was that…everyone seemed to be _smiling_.

And they had every reason to be, Finn thought, reflecting on the damage the Resistance had done to the First Order’s _Fighters_ and infantry. One pilot in particular had made fantastical shots, obliterating the _Fighters_ while picking off troops on the ground, but it was clear the Resistance fighter-pilots worked together as a team, and had worked together so often their collaboration in the air had seemed effortless. It struck Finn that the Resistance fighter-pilots were so good…because they’d had so much practise.

It startled him, seeing the array of X-wing fighters, mostly the new T-70 models but also a few relics, and one spectacular T-85, and an array of bombers, gunships, transports, light freighters, atmospheric fighters, shuttles and trainers that had all, as far as Finn could tell, been adapted for military use. And if _he_ could tell, a simple infantryman, who in no way had much to do with ships beyond being a passenger in them, then they had very obviously been modified. They were also, and this made him do a double-take several times, customised. Decals had been painted onto the wings, they were all different colours: They were personalised to their pilots.

He had never seen such individuality. And it was stunning, to see it on a military base.

And he realised that the Resistance not only honoured individuality but encouraged it: Pilots took ownership of their starships, rather than being assigned one out of a fleet of perfectly identical ships, the pilots replaced as often as damaged _TIE_ _Starfighters_.

Some of the starships paid homage to the pilot’s home-planet, some had named their ships, names painted sometimes in nothing more than Basic lettering, other times in beautiful artistic renderings: there was the _Lady Luck_ ; the _Basilisk_ ; _Argo_ ; _Thisbe_ ; _Nemesis_ ; _Valkyrie_ ; and _Retribution_.

They even had a stolen and repainted _TIE Silencer_ in the fleet, _The Splendid Angharad_ , a glorious dream of engineering, and she had a rather lewd painting of a voluptuous Togrutan female in wisps of silk pouting at the viewer, and Finn gaped at it, feeling a flush rising in his cheeks. He swore the painting of the woman _winked_ at him!

His jaw unhinged when a tiny Nautolan child, teal-skinned with huge, inky black eyes - skipped past, sucking her thumb and holding hands with an older child with glossy purplish-black hair bound in hundreds of tiny, glossy braids arranged in an elaborate style, rich mahogany skin and a crown of little horns across her brow, who was beaming excitedly, leading the way to a curvy Tholothian woman with a heavy belt around her waist, the top half of her jumpsuit peeled off, knotted around her waist. The woman stood by _The Splendid Angharad_ and was arguing with a DUM-series repair droid over which of them got to rummage around the proton torpedo launcher and find the source of some noxious fumes, at the same time keeping up a conversation with a young Wookiee, the same height as her but slender and covered in pale golden-brown fur, rumbling at her. Finn could practically hear the Wookiee’s disappointment and annoyance, as the woman poked the DUM-droid on the nose, forcing it to collapse in on itself, already digging through the contents of the pouches on her belt.

“- _soon_ , Tish; these repairs need to be made first. War waits for no Wookiee. I’ve already promised I’d teach you how to pilot a speeder; I won’t forget, cross my heart,” she said reassuringly, drawing an X over her heart with a fingertip. The Wookiee rumbled. “Don’t you dare take that tone with _me_ , Ticharrakk. We’ve got some more work to do on your temper, young lady.” The Wookiee moaned apologetically, and the Tholothian woman’s beautiful face flickered from gentle chastisement to radiant joy as she spotted the two little mismatched children skipping toward her. The little Nautolan ran ahead, raising one arm in supplication - the Tholothian woman swept her up into her arms, settling her on her hip, placing loud kisses on the child’s neck and cheek to make her giggle around her thumb, which she was still sucking.

“My _darlings_!” the woman cooed, content. “Have you been bugging Galen while I was away?”

The little girl said something, and the woman chuckled, gently plucking the thumb from the Nautolan’s mouth. “Pardon, sweetling?”

The little Nautolan had a delicate lisp, her smile sweet, when she said, “We used real bugs this time.”

“I’ll bet Galen loved that! Did he squeal?” The Nautolan nodded eagerly, her subtly dappled tentacles swinging sweetly. The Zabrak wandered over, very lean, her little horns and her intricate braids gleaming in the sunshine, and she held out her hand, palm up.

“What?”

“Your shuri beads.”

“They worked fine, my darling,” the Tholothian said, smiling fondly.

“ _Fine_. Fine?! You say that word to me? I do not create _fine_ \- I craft exquisite, incomparable feats of technological advancement and ingenuity.”

“You know your fancy words hurt my head. Here, take the shuris and be-gone to your laboratory before you give me a migraine. And be careful. You’re one laboratory accident away from being a maniacal villain from one of my Togrutan holovid operas. I won’t be part of the origin story of how _you_ went down the wrong path!” The young Zabrak grinned, as the woman threaded a bracelet of large dark beads from her wrist, handing them over.

“I have been working on improvements to the nano-tech,” said the girl enthusiastically, and Finn could hear the Tholothian’s sigh as she exchanged an indulgent smile with the inky-eyed Nautolan child, who was smiling around her thumb.

“You are fourteen years old; you should really consider pacing yourself,” said the woman, leaning in to give the Zabrak a gentle kiss on her forehead, careful of her crown of delicate horns. “Go, and take Artorias with you. You know better than to bring her out here while the fleet is coming in. All these chemicals will affect her pwecious wittle tentacles’ development.” The Nautolan child gazed adoringly at the Tholothian.

“We heard the _Millennium Falcon_ has returned to the Resistance,” said the Zabrak eagerly, glancing around, and Finn jumped as the woman and the two children glanced around - but they looked past him, the Zabrak’s violet eyes widening, the Nautolan plucking the thumb out of her mouth with a wet noise to point excitedly at Chewbacca.

“Tish, look…it’s Chewbacca, hero of the Battle of Endor,” said the woman, in a suitably respectful tone, and the young Wookiee turned around, moaning softly in awe of the much larger male Wookiee, his bandolier flashing across his chest, idly swinging his bowcaster. “Go and say hello. Of course he won’t mind.”

The young Wookiee turned and wandered directly in the path of a hover transport, which lurched to a stop to avoid collision, the droid driving it beeping in annoyance, but the Wookiee paid no attention, intent on the giant Wookiee, who lumbered after a beleaguered-looking Han Solo, the lines in his face suddenly much more pronounced.

“Zsa Zsa, take Artorias back to the lab, and don’t get underfoot,” said the woman gently, letting the Nautolan down.

“Are they redeploying you?”

The Tholothian stopped, her pale tendrils swaying about her shoulders. Her soft grey-blue eyes turned solemn as she gazed at the Zabrak. “Why do you ask that?”

“The Hosnian System,” the Zabrak girl all but mumbled, gazing down at the ground. “Galen told me it has been obliterated. We thought they were comets.”

The woman turned gentle eyes on the Zabrak girl, sadness flickering across it, and something more tangible - a wince of grief she couldn’t quite conceal, or perhaps made no effort to. “Yes. It was the Hosnian System. The First Order annihilated it.”

“Galen says that communications are already being sent out to any ship in the New Republic fleet scattered across the galaxy, to convene at safe-zones so they can join us at a Resistance base,” the Zabrak said softly. She glanced down at the charcoal-coloured beads in her palm, which seemed to shimmer with electric blue veins for a second as she passed her thumb over one of the beads, as if shivering at the touch, _alive_. “Shireen, I - I can’t… Jory and Dragan and Zeeva, they’re not responding -“

“My darling girl,” the Tholothian sighed, her features falling. She reached out her arm, and the young Zabrak curled against her, suddenly looking _very_ young, very lost. “Jory and Dragan won’t have been anywhere near the Hosnian System. And nor will Zeeva. They will activate their beads if they need to.”

“But - what about Antiope? She always forgets to wear the shuri beads.”

“Zsa Zsa…calm yourself, hm?” She sighed, but Finn saw the troubled look, the flinch, the tiny tremble of her plump lower-lip, as the Tholothian stroked the Zabrak’s braids. “Antiope does forget: She dislikes being tracked by technology, you know this.”

“I haven’t had any readings from her shuri beads for a week!” the Zabrak moaned worriedly, a flicker of vulnerability in her young voice.

“Well, there… You haven’t had any information in a _week_. Antiope is well,” said the Tholothian soothingly, but the stark, grief-stricken look Finn briefly glimpsed on the Tholothian’s face said it all. It was possible this woman Antiope they spoke of was not wearing her beads to be tracked, whatever that meant. Or whatever might have transmitted readings across the galaxy had been destroyed during the Cataclysm, leaving no trace it had ever existed - or its wearer.

“Hatshepsut should have been on Hosnian Prime for the Senate’s vote on a blanket ban on cloning for military or medical purposes,” said the young girl, and at this, the Tholothian tensed, her eyes going to the Zabrak’s face. “Galen kept her behind. He said…”

“He had a bad feeling,” murmured the Tholothian dazedly, and the Zabrak nodded.

“He never insists. General Organa _backed down_ when he insisted Hatshepsut stay behind,” the Zabrak said in quiet awe.

“She would, if it came from Galen. Where’s your sister?” the woman asked gently, raising her eyes to the crowded star-port.

“She’s in the training centre, punishing herself,” the Zabrak sighed heavily, and the Tholothian nodded.

“I will talk to her later. Give her time to collect herself,” she promised gently. “Now, you, go back to Galen. Tell him - tell him I’ve returned, but I await orders. Zsa Zsa - ask Galen. About the others. He will know. He always knows.” Zsa Zsa, the Zabrak, nodded, taking the Nautolan’s hand, and the two girls wandered off, leaving Finn blinking, dazed. He wasn’t…used to children. Wasn’t used to humanoid races. But at this Resistance base, there were many representatives of different galactic races.

There were Abednedo, Duros and Sullustan pilots; Mon Calamari officers. He saw Togruta, Nautolan, Cereans, Iktotchi, older Zabraks, Kel Dors and more Tholothians.

And they all worked in complete harmony with each other, no matter how chaotic everything seemed to Finn at first glance, used to the antiseptic uniformity of the First Order. And among the humans, humanoids and aliens all working together, a thriving hub of purpose and activity, there were droids of every imagining, banged up from space-battles or shiny from fresh oil-baths, some ancient, some reprogrammed Imperial droids given new paint-jobs, some fresh off the production line. Finn was used to ‘mouse’ droids skittering underfoot, guiding his unit to their posts on Starkiller Base.

If the Resistance was worried Finn may be collecting intelligence, they didn’t have to - it would take him ages to sift through everything he had seen and make sense of it.

Finn gazed around, overwhelmed. It was a military base, yet he was thrown off, senses on overdrive trying to absorb everything, reconcile what was familiar in his own experiences to what he now found himself embroiled in. And he realised it was the simple fact that there was no single common uniform. No infantry marching in rigid formations, weapons primed, anonymity preserved, especially for the unlucky soldiers given the executioner’s lot for the day. Only the pilots wore flight jumpsuits, in a variety of colours - vibrant scarlet, deep navy, muted khaki green, even an eye-catching sunset orange - and only they wore helmets, which they were tugging off as soon as possible to reveal grins.

The smiles were more unnerving than the lack of a consistent uniform.

He wasn’t used to that.

The smiles said it all. People had _chosen_ to be here. They were determined, fierce, righteous - and were among others who believed in the same things they did, were devoted to fighting for, together.

He was also unnerved by the presence of humanoid and alien species: the First Order recruited purely human. It was beyond the realms of his experience, to watch a Nautolan mechanic arguing with the human pilot, while a battered old Imperial droid reprogrammed as a mechanic got to work on a smoking engine while giving attitude to the pilot.

Finn had been trained to _kill_ humanoid and aliens - as well as other humans, of course. In that regard, the First Order showed no discrimination. Finn had only ever encountered humanoids and aliens as prisoners of the First Order: He had only…ever been forced to witness their executions. He thought back to the sacred village of Tuanul on Jakku. Rey had known some of the villagers. He’d mentioned the old man: She had visited him often, to hear his stories of the Rebellion, of Han Solo and the last Jedi and Leia Organa, last princess of Alderaan, an obliterated planet, who had become a freedom-fighter and political heavyweight in the Senate. Now she led the Resistance.

Finn had been raised on stories of the Rebels, too. Only, the way the First Order told it, the Rebels were evil warmongers threatening peace and prosperity across the galaxy, orphaning children, murdering politicians devoted to the cause, causing unrest, hunger, homelessness, leaving whole planets war-torn and stripped of resources.

It was all a matter of perspective.

The First Order was all Finn had ever known. And Finn’s first exposure to the Resistance was overwhelming.

After the destruction of the New Republic, Leia Organa was once again the last hope for the galaxy.

The Tholothian woman seemed to sense he had been watching her, and the children: But as she turned to raise an inquisitive brow at him, something bumped into his leg, and he blinked, startled, and watched BB-8 weeble at high velocity toward a _T-70_ _X-wing_ , and a dark-haired man climbing out of the cockpit. Finn could _hear_ BB-8’s excitable trilling, though he had no idea what the droid was saying.

All Finn knew was that he recognised that dark hair, that flashing white easy grin, and he found himself moving, his jaw still unhinged, stunned.

He blocked everything else out, the wonderful ordered chaos of a familiar yet alien military base, to focus on the only thing that mattered in that moment: Poe Dameron was alive.

He ran for his friend. The man he had saved, and who had saved him in return. The man who had named him. How many days ago was that?

And how was he alive? Finn had pulled Poe’s jacket out of the _TIE Fighter_ , had watched the starship sink into the sand - had watched, appalled, as the cloud of fire and smoke rose to the skies, the starship exploding.

“BeeBee-Ate, my buddy! I’m so happy to see you!!!” Finn watched BB-8 be greeted enthusiastically by the pilot, who knelt at his level to reach out… _tickling_ the droid, his laugh carrying over the noise of the busy star-port. “Rey saved you? And _Finn_?! Where are they?”

BB-8’s photoreceptor swivelled, and Poe glanced up. Saw Finn. “Poe?” The sun shone from Poe’s face as he grinned, and he chuckled disbelievingly, already running toward him, still strapped in his flight suit, a vibrant scarlet. “Poe Dameron, you’re alive?!” Finn gasped, and they collided, hugging each other fiercely.

“Buddy!!!” Poe exclaimed, clapping his hands on Finn’s back. “So are you?!”

“What happened to you?” Finn demanded.

“What happened? I got thrown from the crash. Woke up at night, no _you_ , no ship, nothing. Hitched a ride into town with a Blarina, after escaping a gang set on selling us for parts. BeeBee-Ate said that you saved him? Who’s Rey?”

“Rey’s the one who saved BeeBee-Ate, I just found them at Niima Outpost by accident,” Finn clarified. “Poe, he took her. Kylo Ren _took_ Rey.”

“Kylo Ren?”

“Oh. Uh - the tall man in black, with the mask, and the crimson lightsaber with the crossguard,” Finn said, and Poe’s eyes widened, connecting the name to the man.

Evidence of Poe’s time as guest of the First Order was still colouring his face, his lip split, bruised, his eye no longer quite as swollen as it had been when Finn broke him out of his cell. But the pilot went very still when Finn mentioned the hulking menace that was Kylo Ren.

“Oh, I remember him. Cracked my head open like an egg and went digging around,” Poe said grimly, and Finn nodded solemnly. “Why… Why would he take your friend?”

“I don’t know, she’s just a _kid_ , Poe, but she…she can _do_ things,” Finn said, overwhelmed, uncertain how to even describe what he had seen…and what he had _felt_. The plasma blast. The Rathtar. Healing Chewie.

BB-8 chirped. Poe asked, “You can show me? What does he mean? Show me what? _What do you mean, you’ve been playing chase with Rathtars_?! Rathtars? _Finn_?!”

“It’s a long story, and it’s Han’s fault for hauling three Rathtars in the first place,” Finn said defensively, as Poe blinked, his dark brows rising.

“We’re gonna have a discussion about what you get up to on your own, buddy,” Poe said, with _almost_ convincing sternness: BB-8 cooed in response. “You weren’t on your own? Only for a night… And that’s when you _let_ Rey rescue you from a Teedo and _allowed_ her to take you to her home? She lives in an AT-AT. You _bonded_ with Rey?” BB-8 hummed happily.

“What’d he say?” Finn asked, as Poe chuckled fondly.

“He says he’s _keeping_ her,” Poe smiled. “So the two of you - sorry, BeeBee-Ate, _three_ of you - completed my mission, _Finn_ , you - that’s my jacket!” Poe blinked, breaking off mid-thought, his dark eyes sweeping across Finn’s shoulders.

“Oh!” Finn gasped, realising he had plucked the jacket out of the _TIE Fighter’s_ cockpit, thinking it was all he had of his first friend, of Poe Dameron. He started to shrug it off.

“No, no, no, no. Keep it,” Poe said, his voice warm, his dark eyes twinkling. This was Poe, Finn thought: Always smiling, living in the moment, _joyous_ in the moment, charismatic, compassionate and decisive, level-headed and focused in a crisis. Finn remembered how he had checked that _Finn_ was okay, in the midst of their escape, dodging enemy fire, even though Finn had literally had to half-carry Poe from his interrogation chamber, he’d been so badly battered: And he remembered that Poe had checked Finn was _happy_ to be called by the name Poe had given him. Poe smiled warmly at him. “It suits you.” He punched Finn’s shoulder playfully. “You’re a good man, Finn.”

Finn stared back at him. The man he had helped save, and who had saved him. His first friend.

“Poe… I need your help,” he said earnestly.

“Okay, buddy,” Poe nodded, his tone gentle, concern written all over his face. “Tell me what’s going on. Tell me what happened since we got separated.”

They found a space near the _X-wing_ , out of the way, so Poe could keep one eye on the mechanics making repairs to his ship, and one eye on BB-8, who hummed softly as he rubbed up against Poe’s leg, his head resting against Poe’s knee, as Finn quickly told the story of noticing Rey in the middle of Niima Outpost because she was brawling with two thugs over their attempted theft of a one-of-a-kind droid, who had spotted Finn wearing Poe’s jacket. Poe raised his eyebrows when Finn told him about Rey giving him a bloody nose with her quarterstaff, just because BB-8 had told her the jacket had been stolen from his master. His jaw dropped, when Finn told of their escape in the _Millennium Falcon_ , appreciating the manoeuvres Rey had pulled off to keep them ahead of their First Order pursuers, and how they had found themselves boarded by none other than Han Solo and Chewbacca.

BB-8 inserted himself into the telling of the story, throwing up a hologram of the freighter hangar - Rey, the plasma-blast, the Death Gang and the Rathtar. All of it.

Quietly, Finn told Poe about Rey healing Chewbacca.

“Finn, I… I don’t think Kylo Ren’s gonna hurt her,” Poe said quietly, when Finn finished telling him about Maz Kanata, the castle, the food, Rey, the lightsaber Maz had given to Finn for safekeeping until it could be returned to Rey.

Finn stared. “ _What_? You don’t think - ?!”

“She’s _like_ him, Finn,” Poe said quietly, gazing thoughtfully at Finn. “Stopping a plasma blast…he did the same thing, that night at Tuanul. He stopped _my_ plasma blast, and he paralysed me at the same time… To find someone else who can do what he can?”

“But how could he possibly know?”

“How does the First Order know anything?” Poe asked. “And wouldn’t you be…curious, to discover someone just like you? Kylo Ren, he’s… He’s something different. And so’s your friend, by the sounds of it.”

“Poe, he’ll take her to Starkiller Base,” Finn said plaintively. “If she doesn’t do what the First Order wants - they’ll terminate her. They won’t care if Kylo Ren is _curious_. You’re either with the First Order, or you’re scheduled for extermination by the First Order.”

“Starkiller Base?” Poe blinked.

“That’s - it’s the weapon, the one they used to destroy the Hosnian System,” Finn said, staring at Poe. “The First Order built into a planet called Ilum, turned it into a mobile base, a weapon capable of murdering entire star-systems. They modelled it after the Death Stars. It’s where I was before my unit was redeployed to the _Finalizer_ , Kylo Ren’s _Destroyer_. Poe, I _have_ to get Rey out of there. She’s a _good_ person, she wanted to join the Resistance as a mechanic because she knows she can’t return to Jakku after stealing the _Falcon_ \- she protected BeeBee-Ate, she healed Chewie - and I… I _lost_ her. I turned around at Maz’s and she was _gone_. And now the First Order has her, and they’ll know. _They’ll know she helped me_.”

“Okay,” Poe said calmly, gripping Finn’s shoulder as the sound of his heartbeat crashed in his ears, his breaths short, choppy, not quite reaching his lungs, and Poe levelled a sombre look at him, and Poe focused on his eyes, nothing else. Just Poe’s eyes, solemn but caring, compassionate. “Just breathe, buddy, okay. We’ll do what we can to help her. But we’re gonna need your help.”

“Whatever I can do,” Finn said, making his mind up.

He had thought of running. Hiding somewhere in the Outer Rim, where he could disappear. Discover what it was to be a _person_ , and decide who he wanted to be.

Finn realised he had learned who he was over the last few days.

He risked everything to do what was right.

* * *

Now that he had found her, he was reluctant to let her out of his sight.

He had carried her through the woods to his _Upsilon_ -class command shuttle, where he had laid her down on a bench along the wall, ignoring the annoyance of one of his assigned troopers that her fight had been cut short, withdrawing troops before they could engage fully with the Resistance - Ren did not feel obliged to indulge the soldier’s feelings, gauging the situation as he strode through the wreckage of the star-port with the girl in his arms. They had already lost the battle: finding the map was their primary objective. Soon enough, the Resistance would be nothing but an afterthought, without the New Republic to support their efforts. He frowned to himself, settling into a padded leather seat, watching the girl, as he reached out, and felt the second trooper’s presence: He kept his blaster on the girl, ever cautious due to ingrained training, however, he felt uncomfortable doing so, and was more wary of _Ren’s_ intent toward her than any danger the girl herself posed.

 _Compassion_ , Ren frowned to himself. Curious.

He had thought the soldiers had been trained out of such emotions. Anything that threatened the smooth operation of the First Order’s military might was reprogrammed, if it could be altered, or removed permanently, if not.

He reflected on FN-2187, whose presence he had felt in the star-port, burning vibrantly with determination, courage…

“ _They were always brave_ ,” said a feminine voice tinged with sadness as memories warred behind her gentle face, and Ren winced, shoving the memory of _her_ away. She used to tell him stories of the Rebel Alliance… _They were always brave_ … The ones who fought for what was _right_ , no matter the personal cost.

FN-2187 had freed the pilot. Poe Dameron. And somehow…he and the traitor had both survived their escape to Jakku. Ren felt the presence of the best pilot in the Resistance - even if he _hadn’t_ felt it, the burning, brave heart of the man whose mind he had slipped into, he might have paused to marvel at the skill of the pilot obliterating his _Fighters_ and picking off troops on the ground one by one like it was an art-form.

If Ren wasn’t so impressed, he might be more concerned about murdering the pilot, just for having the audacity to survive his escape, and give evidence to the fact that he truly was the best pilot in the Resistance.

Yes, FN-2187 had had the courage to do what was right, even in the face of insurmountable odds of his survival. With no-one to guide him. No-one to protect him. He had refused to remain part of something he so wholly opposed on principle: The First Order was still cleansing the unit to which he reported, Captain Phasma bringing a new definition to the terms ‘thorough’ and ‘merciless’. It was the way of the First Order, to tidy up any messes so thoroughly no-one ever realised they had ever happened. Certainly not the infantry, on whose numbers they relied…at least, until Starkiller Base had been completed.

Without even a thought, without _effort_ , they would conquer the galaxy.

First Order engineers and scientists had been so preoccupied with whether or not they _could_ apply the technology of the Death Stars, transforming an entire planet into a weapon, that no-one had ever stopped to question…whether they _should_.

There was a reason both Death Stars had been destroyed. The bigger the target, the easier it was to find it, and the more determined their enemies would be to destroy it.

Especially after the Hosnian Cataclysm. That’s what the superior officers were already calling it, with snide smiles and dark glee drifting off them in self-congratulatory waves that made Ren’s hands shake.

They hadn’t heard them. They hadn’t _felt_ them.

He _felt_ everything. Remembered everything. Every face. Every cry.

He wanted to be free of it. He wanted to… _rest_. To gentle his riotous body by embracing the soothing peace of the light…

Ren flinched again, glad of his helmet, gulping, hoping the Supreme Leader would not find evidence of such thoughts inside his mind were he to probe again, memories of the last time seared into his mind, enough to make him flinch, now, and be wary… He could not entertain such thoughts - not without suffering for them. He knew better by now.

It was those memories that steeled his resolve: he turned away from the girl. They returned to the _Destroyer_ : He placed her in a chamber in the prison wing, ensuring she was alone, and would remain undisturbed.

The journey back to the planet that had once been known as Ilum was uneventful, as most journeys in a First Order _Destroyer_ usually were - FN-2187’s escape with the Resistance pilot being a prime example of how rigidly routine everything was, never varying - _Utterly predictable_ , Ren thought, mentally chastising the superior officers for their failure to prevent the escape - and Ren received guidance from his Supreme Leader, his mentor, and issued his own orders. He was not a part of the hierarchy of the First Order’s superior officers, but rather adjacent to them: And it infuriated the weasel Armitage Hux to no end that Ren’s orders could and often did supersede theirs. Ren received his orders from Snoke himself: the First Order was at _his_ disposal to achieve all they desired. Tools, nothing more, to be discarded and replaced at a whim when they had served their purpose - or they were found to be incapable of doing so.

Something niggled in the back of Ren’s mind - the way Snoke regarded Hux like a _thing_ , a tool, a weapon to be controlled, honed and eventually discarded, his tone exultant, laughing, as he talked to Ren about the mean, self-aggrandising general and his small, mediocre part in Snoke’s plans. They each had their part to play, and would be ruthlessly replaced if they did not live up to expectations…even Ren.

And that…concerned him. This girl…were Snoke to discover her true potential - if she did not have a protector, if she could not be brought under his wing, immune to Snoke’s plans… She was Force-sensitive: and Ren was as determined as Snoke, for his own reasons, that there be no more Jedi after he had hunted down and killed Luke Skywalker.

But just because she would never be a Jedi did not mean her talents could not be nurtured into something…wondrous.

Ren refused what some of the officers had tastelessly nicknamed the “cradle” - the interrogation frame. Instead, when they reached Starkiller Base, Ren carried the still-unconscious girl to a small, reinforced chamber with twin guards stationed outside the door, no surveillance, and a cradle at one end of the room, half in shadow - used as a scare tactic, often more effective than actual torture, according to the technicians - and at the other end, a blank stretch of wall from which retractable manacles dangled, ready. Instead of lashing her down on the cradle, he gently laid her down on the floor, and locked a manacle around each wrist.

She was his prisoner, after all. She had vital information on the location of Luke Skywalker, which she _would_ divulge to him.

She slept, and he waited for her to wake.

And it was…a blessed _relief_ … To be in the room with no-one observing his every movement, flinching at his temper, eager to witness his failure. To be able to sit, and lose himself in the feeling of contentment of just being in her presence. To know he had found her. The little girl in the sand.

He had felt her in his mind, earlier, a delicate caress, drawn to his intolerable light, even as she was overwhelmed by his invasion of her mind. As he gazed at her, he reflected on it, that feeling… Entering her mind had been easy - the easiest he had ever found it, like…like drifting into a corridor of his own mind he had never known was there. But he had been near-blinded by what he found, gasping with shock and unsettled as _light_ flooded him, her innate sense of joy, her _wonder_ that he had been experiencing for hours, ripples of joy spreading across the galaxy to him, her exquisite ecstasy and unbridled rapture, contentedness mingled with hope, chasing away shadows that lurked, ready to drift across her mind like a rippling blanket of nightfall - but sprinkled with glimmering starlight - _hope_. Even when she was shrouded in darkness, in devastation, grief, loneliness…she still _hoped_.

The light in her was only as bright _because_ of the shadows.

She clung to it - the blinding thread of molten gold and sunlight slipping seamlessly through her mind, pulsating and vibrant, flickers of shadow broken by sparks of starlight, the darkness diffused gently by teasing, warm golden lamplight that throbbed to a blinding, breathless golden sun that drenched everything, saturating it with joy, hope, patience, compassion, excitement, wonder…

Inside his mind, he felt her, as he always had, no longer just a phantom presence, a faint whisper struggling to be heard over all the other voices commanding his attention. That light, her warmth, her presence, sparkling and exquisite but jarring, unfamiliar, was starting to overwhelm the others, the voices he had heard since his earliest memories, whispering torment and hateful things, tearing him apart; the light - _her_ light - chased them away…obliterated some, left others fatally wounded, was met with resistance by some…

He let out a choked breath… _peace_ … He felt _peace_ , a quiet in his mind, for the first time in… He didn’t know.

Ren turned his attention to the girl, drawn again and again to her slumbering form. She was so delicate. And yet, carrying her, he knew she was built of pure, lean muscle, not an ounce of spare _anything_ on her, and he remembered the ration-packs she had been forced to subsist on. He wondered briefly whether offering her a meal might soften her toward him...

Perhaps she would…respond to compassion?

Rather than the usual First Order methods…

He wanted the map.

He’d…do _anything_ to ensure she wasn’t hurt over it.

Because it was _her_ …

Across the galaxy, one out of _trillions_ \- and yet he had found her. The little girl from his dreams, the source of the lullaby that had soothed him for so long, the constant, resilient presence, a flicker of light he sometimes clung to when he was at his most helpless, his most hopeless. _Her_.

 _Rey_.

She smelled of sun, sweat and sand and the whisper of something exotic, spicy, luring and warm...something that tickled the back of his memory, triggering a sensation of familiarity, even if he couldn’t understand why, what the connection was - only that it was from his childhood, a scent triggering _emotion_ , rather than memory…

And he indulged, for a moment, closing his eyes, relishing the golden light in her, and the way it made the flickers of starlight in his mind shine more brightly, as if coaxed into a response just by her nearness. He indulged in the Light, feeling _safe_ to do so in her presence, _because_ of her presence. Her light coaxed his, chased away the worst of the shadows plaguing his mind, and for who could say how long, he luxuriated in it…peace…calm…

He couldn’t bring himself to enter her mind again, not while she was unconscious, it didn’t seem…right. Though he dreaded her waking, to have to see that ferocious look on her face, worse, to taste her fear as he probed her mind… He knew the pain of it, the…the violation - he used it as a weapon, justifying it to himself that others wielded blasters and cannons, utilised whatever they had in their arsenal… And was it not cleaner, more efficient - less painful for the victim - for him to enter their minds, rather than allow the technicians to break their bodies? Either way, the end result was the same: Ren was just more expedient about the whole business.

The girl sighed softly in her sleep: Ren found himself lulled by her presence, by the calm emanating from her… It wouldn’t last, he knew, but for the moment…he savoured it.

Sat on the cradle, he watched her sleeping. Closed his eyes…let the light envelop him, coaxing and gentle and _good_ , restful. In sleep, her ferocious face had gentled, serenity radiating from her, as fear had in the woods. But yet…he had felt her - she had _reached out_ for him, before he had revealed himself to her.

Then she had fled.

He opened his eyes, still revelling in the light of her presence, and gazed at her. Her skin was deeply tanned, and he knew her skin radiated warmth, even through her worn clothing. The bridge of her dainty little nose was mildly pink from exposure to the sun, and freckles were sprinkled across her nose and cheeks like so many stars. Neat dark brows hovered over her eyes, shaping her face, and her lashes were long and fine, not thick and lush but fluttery, pretty. There were faint purplish bruises under her eyes, from sleeplessness, he thought. She had a very beautiful jawline, and her _lips_ …

Her lips would rewrite history.

He was staring at them when she stirred. At first, just a gentle sigh, a subtle tightening of her brow, the tip of her tongue dabbing at her lower-lip, rolling over - then all at once, she was wide-awake, sat up, yanking at the manacle around one wrist, her expression that of utter mystification. She gave the chain another yank, checked her other wrist. Her hazel eyes scanned the bare wall behind her, the seamless walls betraying no hint of an exit.

Her lovely hazel eyes found him.

She coiled with tension, rising to her feet, and he recalled how she fought. A sand-snake. And she looked as dangerous as one now, sensing a threat, poised to defend herself, small, but no less lethal.

Dread, true fear, hostility, wariness all flickered across her face, one after the other, before her incomparably pretty face settled into something calm…determined. Resolved. _Dangerous_ , Ren couldn’t help think.

That look reminded him of his mother.

She knew exactly the situation she was in, he could sense her appreciation of it.

He could also taste her dread, mingled with anger.

When she turned her lovely eyes on him, her expression was closed off, guarded… _defiant_. She was beautiful. And wearing a mask. She tilted her head, assessing him.

He let out a short breath, something twinging. Because for that one moment, it was not the young-woman sat with him.

The tiny girl shrouded in sand-sashes, her whole head obscured by a cowl and lopsided goggles tilted her head at him, and squared off, her battered fingers curled into tiny fists.

Ren flinched.

It was the way she tilted her head, ever so slightly, taking the measure of him.

The little girl in the sand.

 _Found you_ , his heart moaned with longing.

Even coiled with tension, ready to fight him off with her bare hands if she had to, she radiated _light_ , fierce and pure.

“Where am I?” Her voice was soft, low, gently accented, and unyielding in spite of her circumstances.

“You’re my guest.” A fractional narrowing of her eyes showing her distaste.

“Where are the others?” she asked.

“You mean the murderers, traitors and thieves you call friends?” Ren asked, his tone measured. “You’ll be relieved I have no idea.”

She blinked several times, her eyes widening, eyebrows rising, and her lips parted, as if she couldn’t believe what she had heard. “ _Murderers_?” she gasped to herself, soft and incredulous. She raised her eyes to his face - his mask - and they turned ferocious, brittle. Her voice rang with iron tones when she said, “They did not just commit genocide.” He didn’t respond. She seized on his silence, her eyes narrowing, and he wondered if she was reading him, as much as he used the Force to taste her emotions. Quietly, almost curious, she asked, “Did you feel them?” When he didn’t respond, didn’t move, her lips parted again, and she nodded softly to herself. She didn’t look away from his mask - she looked at him as if she saw _through_ it, though she couldn’t know what he looked like beneath it. She…was reaching out with her feelings, he realised. The earliest lesson a padawan learned. Appreciating that there was more to the galaxy than what their own limited senses could show them; that the Force opened up their minds to things that could not be explained, only _felt_. “Yes…you did,” she murmured, and a flicker of something crossed her face - a wince, tangible grief. “You heard them…”

She said it softly, but he felt it like a physical blow - because he had. He did. He would never forget.

The way she had asked whether he had felt their deaths, heard their cries…she had. He knew it instinctively - and she knew enough about what he was, from how they had interacted earlier, and possibly from _training_ \- she understood what he was. What he could do. She understood…what he had access to.

The fact that she had asked whether _he_ had felt them…she had. _She_ was what he had suspected when he saw the footage of the Rathtar, the plasma blast.

She raised her beguiling eyes to his face - his mask - and anger, hatred resonated from her, a flicker of darkness sparkling with starlight rippling from her. White-hot rage, grief. “And _you_ pressed the button to erase five planets from the galaxy as if they had never existed. Billions of people…”

“ _Trillions_ ,” Ren corrected gently, and the girl did a double-take. Surprised, that he had acknowledged her comment, perhaps. Or stunned by the sheer scale of devastation. “It was not my decision to use the weapon.”

The First Order had claimed no true victory today.

But he had. Here she was. _Her_.

Intoxicating eyes he couldn’t look away from lanced to his face - his mask - and a muscle in her jaw ticked, “But you stood there and _let them do it_.”

“I was searching for you,” he said simply, and her long eyelashes fluttered, her lips parting. She didn’t know how to respond; and Ren didn’t know why he’d said it. Almost…wanting to defend himself. “The First Order is not one man. Starkiller Base would have been unleashed on the Hosnian System without my involvement; ever since the weapon was in its final phase of construction the home of the New Republic was always going to be the First Order’s greatest conquest.”

“I thought if you conquer something, you still _have it_ afterwards,” she sniffed, and he saw her eyes were gleaming. Her tone was anguished, but defiant, when she said, “The Hosnian System wasn’t conquered - it was _obliterated_. Now the entire galaxy knows what the First Order means to do.”

“And more planets will follow the fate of the Hosnian System before the First Order restores order to the galaxy,” Ren told her calmly.

“Submit or be obliterated…” she said, her tone subdued, but with a hint of wretched irony. She shook her head gently, and her eyes darkened, shrewd and angry, though he could sense her confusion at the sheer scale of destruction, the voices she had heard crying out, the pain in her heart at their sudden obliteration. “The galaxy will not stand for it.”

“No?”

“We are used to our freedom,” she said, and he found himself lulled by her soft, rich, exotic accent. “And there are those alive who still remember what it was like to live under the dictatorship of the Emperor. They won’t stand for it.”

“So the Resistance has been reduced to recruiting children and withered old men to fight their battles,” Ren said snidely.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Are you not a member of the Resistance?”

“I’m a scavenger from Jakku,” the girl said, with no hint of either pride or shame. It was a fact, nothing more. She gave her manacles a half-hearted yank, and turned those beguiling eyes on him. “But I am considering my options.”

Anger radiated from her, almost overriding the taste of her fear.

“You still want to kill me,” Ren said thoughtfully.

“And you are surprised? A creature in a mask _hunted_ me in the woods.”

Of course. She didn’t realise. May not even _remember_ him…

She could deny what she had felt, in the woods…what she felt _now_ , so close to him - if _he_ felt her presence like…recovering a lost part of _himself_ , then _she_ … She _had_ to feel it too.

It was forbidden for the Knights of Ren to remove their helmet before an enemy.

He reached up. His helmet hissed softly as it unlatched, pressure releasing, and he stood as he removed it.

Her fine eyelashes fluttered, her exquisite lips parted, and astonishment radiated from her.

It was worth it, revealing his face to her, for her reaction, the way all anger drained from her face, leaving behind stunned disbelief…a reluctant awe…a touch of embarrassment as she realised… Without even reaching out, he heard her voice in his head, as clearly as if she’d spoken aloud.

* * *

He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Her lips parted, and she could do nothing but gaze back, stunned.

Luscious, thick hair fell almost to his shoulders in careless, perfect waves, framing his narrow, sombre, almost sensitive face. He had a long, handsome nose and lips…lush, soft lips, a beautiful mouth…intensity simmered behind deep, dark brown eyes that remained fixed on her face as she gazed back, drinking him in. A delicate constellation of tiny moles decorated his skin - either side of his nose, above his left eyebrow, peppering his jawline. His long hair, she realised, served to conceal his ears, and it was those that made her lips part, her gaze drawn again to his long nose, his broad shoulders, that lush mouth.

He wasn’t a boy any more. He was a young _man_ , with an imposing physique, his dark clothing concealing his strength, grace and purpose mixed to create the perfect predator. Standing before her, he radiated an intense, volatile presence, but…there was something else, too…hesitancy. He lifted his chin, his gaze levelled on hers, almost a challenge.

Rey couldn’t help wonder how often he took off that mask. How often he let people _see_. And whether she really was seeing him at all.

This wasn’t the boy she remembered. The adolescent with large ears and a shy smile and a leanly muscled body that moved like a dancer as he wielded his staff against her attackers.

This man who stared back at her…and he _was_ staring, his eyes dipping again and again to her lips…he was _him_ , the boy with the staff - only, not. She could sense him, that boy - she had recognised him that night Tuanul was destroyed; she felt the familiarity of his presence in the woods. The same presence in her mind and her heart that she had felt for _years_ , every time she had a nightmare, or an absurdly strong emotion wholly disconnected to what was happening to her at that moment, or heard the whispers and murmurs in the back of her mind… She _knew_ him. But the face no longer matched.

He had grown up. Physically stronger; emotionally volatile. In pain. Bereft, and confused, uncertain… _yearning_ … She tasted it, his desire to have her _see him_. Not the black mask he wore, or even the mask he hid his emotions behind, but the man behind those intense brown eyes.

Her fingers twitched, her palms itching with the desire to reach out and comb her fingers through his luxurious silky black hair, and check whether it truly was him, just by looking at his ears. She clenched her fists, even as she licked her lips, gazing at his: His dark eyes tracked the movement, his huge body very still. She swallowed, and shivered, suddenly all too aware that he looked…perfect. She felt grubby and uncomfortable before him, in her threadbare old clothes, suddenly vulnerable before his gaze, in her thin old top, her silk trousers and her sand-sashes. She had to fight the urge to fidget with her belt, to straighten her sashes, all too aware of her own body flushing suddenly hot under his relentless gaze.

She gazed back, unabashed in relishing every second as he seemed to memorise her face.

It couldn’t be him.

It _was_ him.

The boy with the staff. Who had given her shy, self-conscious smiles, gangly and kind.

The man with the mask. Who had kidnapped her, gazing at her as if he wanted to consume her.

He slammed the mask down, but his movements were carefully slow, deliberate, as he approached her. He stood inches from her, making her shiver at his nearness - she wasn’t used to _anyone_ being so physically intimate with her - and she had to raise her face to gaze back at him.

“Tell me about the droid.” His voice was softer, without the modulator built into his mask. Softer, almost calm…handsome. It was a handsome voice. Everything about him…was handsome. At least, his appearance was, she amended, glad of her leather vambrace on her right wrist as the manacles started to chafe against the paracord bracelet on her left wrist.

He looked like some kind of god of war and virility, but she was his prisoner. He had _taken_ her. This was an interrogation. And she had crucial information he had already killed to obtain.

She bit the inside of her lips, glancing at his face, as he swept his dark eyes up and down her body. And she _felt_ them. Suddenly, she was too big for her own skin. Too hot. Uncomfortable. Fidgety. She wanted to step back. Refused to let herself.

“He’s a BB unit with a selenium drive and a thermal hyperscan vindicator,” she said, desperate to distract herself from his intense eyes. “He’s…loyal and chatty and optimistic and -“

“He’s carrying a section of a navigational chart,” he interrupted, with that handsome, beguilingly soft voice. She could listen to him talk all day. Especially if it meant she didn’t have to give any answers that would implicate BB-8 or the Resistance. “We have the rest, recovered from the archives of the Empire. But we need the last piece. Yet somehow you convinced the droid to show it to you. _You_ …a _scavenger_. No better than a Jawa.”

“I’m not a thief,” she protested, frowning with indignation. His gaze swept up her body, from her boots to her eyes, and rested on her lips, and again, she felt it like a physical caress. She narrowed her eyes, and said quietly, “Better a scavenger than a terrorist.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, eyes dark and simmering, and the look lasted long enough that Rey saw… _him_. Cracks in the mask of his perfect, solemn face. A slight tick of a muscle in his jaw; a tremble of his lips as he exhaled, nostrils flaring delicately; a bleakness in his eyes as they widened fractionally - all tiny indicators that her comment had had an impact.

It wasn’t a flinch of guilt, but it might as well have been.

He clenched his jaw. Those simmering dark eyes closed off, gleaming. The light played lovingly with his roguish wavy hair, highlighting his long, handsome nose, those _lips_ , and Rey held her breath, wondering how he would react. Tension simmered from him, as he gazed at her lips again, frowning subtly as he glanced down her body and back to her face, never blinking as he gazed into her eyes.

“You know, I can take whatever I want,” he said tenderly.

She gasped, inhaling sharply, and fought her natural instinct to flinch away from him - she even lifted her foot to step back, but a thought filtered through her panic, the anticipation of pain: If she yielded to him now, she would never be able to stand up to him again.

Rey felt it. This time, was prepared for it. Gentled her fear, honing it with resolve and purpose, gathering the Light within and around her. Refused to give in to her fear of him. He raised a hand, as if to caress her cheek, leaving precious inches between their bodies as the pressure increased, and her eyes widened, her lips parting on a gasp as he caressed the tender entrance he had created last time, without her realising it had been left open, sore - her eyes stung, and he slipped through…

“You’re so lonely… So afraid to leave,” he said softly, his eyes roving over her face as he rifled through her memories with such ease. “At night, desperate to sleep, you imagine the safe place… Mountains and meadows and lakes, wildflowers…life, thriving all around you, a part of you, and you a part of it…” For a long moment, he didn’t say a word. Her safe place filled her mind - and she clenched her jaw against the pain, refusing to give it to him, to relent her safe place to him. She squeezed the tears from her eyes, stinging her cheeks, and saw the flicker cross his face, his lips parting - at her tears, or at the safe place? How many times had she woken from nightmares over the years, and crafted her dream of the safe place, letting it gentle her mind, make her heart content. She wondered how he knew she thought of it as her safe place. And whether…all these years…those nightmares, _his_ nightmares he had been sending her, perhaps she had shown him the safe place? Her mind drifted to Maz’s castle, the view. A new, _real_ , beautiful place. Talking to Han about pistols as they overlooked the lake. “And Han Solo. You imagine he’s what your father might have been like. Be glad you never knew yours; you would only have been disappointed…”

“ _Get_ \- _out_.” He relented, only to gaze at her, his expression solemn.

“I know you’ve seen the map,” he said, reminding her again why she was here, though it seemed so…wrong to her, a kick in the teeth - after all this time, _this_ was how they met? It almost made her want to weep. “It’s in there… And now, you’ll give it to me.”

He was more determined. Less careful. And she was prepared, and learning.

The same fathomless shadow climbed into her mind, burning like embers, flickering with fire and lightning, tiny glints of _light_ sparkling amid the impenetrable darkness, his presence dark, chaotic, drenched in pain, self-loathing, regret and doubt.

She gazed at him, and gathered the Light inside her, around her. Let it saturate her mind, shining so brightly it overwhelmed everything else. She seized on the shadowy tether of his mind, wrapping herself around the smoky, violently flickering seam of shadow, embers and lightning, and thrust herself along it - whipping herself into his mind…

To be met by horror.

His presence in her mind was chaotic.

Her presence in his illuminated…torture. A maelstrom of shadow, rage, fear, ferocious desperation, memories warped and infected by a complex web of tumours, spreading through his mind, feeding on his memories, warping them, dimming some that had once shone brightly, warping others, a dark haze over them, jarring and unnatural, as if someone had decided to rewrite things, doing their utmost to convince him they were real…

He woke to the persistent hum of a lightsaber, casting a green light across the cottage. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw his uncle, the saber illuminating his murderous rage, the pure intent in his eyes, as he swung to cleave him in two - he thrust a hand out for his own lightsaber, the blade shining true blue, parrying his uncle’s swing - saving his own life. He shoved his other hand out, to pull the ceiling down around them. Panting with exertion, and rage, and a clear sense of what had to happen next, he climbed out of the ruins, drawing on the Force…on the dark well inside him that had always frightened him, always called to him - the bolt of lightning rent the sky open, brutal and beautiful, and set the temple alight. He sighed, watching it burn, finally…and swung his saber idly in his hand, approaching the wreckage, anticipating he would have to despatch a few witnesses, the other students, before he left this pitiful place behind, and reclaimed his birth-right…

She squinted, gathering a handful of Light, shafting it through the miasma of hate and fear shrouding the memory, and she _felt_ his shudder as something cracked, molten lava cooling, hissing and smoking, as it fell away, leaving the memory, untouched, unembellished, lighter, still shrouded in fear and hopelessness and pain, but no longer choked by murderous rage…

He woke to a prickling awareness, a soft green glow drawing his gaze, glancing over his shoulder, an older man with a neatly-trimmed beard standing over him, his expression horrified, guilt-stricken and ashamed, lowering his lightsaber, lips parting - he instinctively reached for his own lightsaber, which flew into his hands, igniting to strike out against his uncle’s green saber - “ _Ben, noooo!_ ” He thrust out his other hand, bringing down the roof of the cottage around his uncle, protecting himself by harnessing the Force - he grabbed what he could, his whole body feeling like it was on fire, panic and fear overriding everything else - everything but the gaping chasm that had opened up in his chest, as tears spilled down his face, realising what everyone had known all along: They were afraid of him. And they should be.

As he stumbled onto the path, lightning gathered, more violent than any storm they had ever experienced on the island, and the bolt that struck was phenomenal. It blinded him, temporarily, hit with such impact he was knocked off his feet. When his sight had adjusted to the sudden darkness, his lips parted in horror. The temple was on fire.

And he could hear screaming. The little ones! He lurched from the ground, lightsaber already lit as he pelted for the burning temple, stretching out with his feelings for them, for the little ones - their faces flashed through his mind as he ran, horror mingling with nausea in the pit of his stomach, and he ran into the flames, heedless of the danger, even as the smoke choked him and made his eyes burn. He retched at the first little body. Nothing but a smoking husk, unrecognisable.

He found Aalya, her amber eyes glowing in the firelight, still clinging to life, as he blinked tears from his eyes and used his saber to cut away at the steel and stone crushing her…her lower-body was nothing but a mess of sinew and crushed bone, her blood staining the beautifully tiled floor, now cracked with deep fissures, smoking like everything else. He sank to his knees, and tenderly gathered up the tiny Togrutan girl in his arms. Dying… Dead because of _him_.

He choked, and staggered, feeling out… The sight of eyes melting down a girl’s cheeks would haunt him forever…

Rey withdrew from the memory: She knew it too intimately. Had had that same nightmare for years.

More memories, more _pain_ … Horror - and yearning.

Rey reached out, and found another rare glimmer of light. An unidentifiable stretch of desert. A tiny figure wrapped in sandsashes, six unconscious aliens sprawled around her. And Ben, taking a knee to show her how to hold her fists to prevent herself breaking her thumbs if she threw a punch.

Unpractised, his memories overwhelmed her, years and years’ worth of agony, torture, abuse, manipulation, disguised as mentoring, coaxing him to embrace his legacy, and his destiny. She saw flickers of memories, was drawn into others against her will, held captive by horror, and cried as she flew through more, jarred by memories of an idyllic childhood learning how to pilot speeders, a Wookiee teaching him to shoot a bowcaster; a dark-eyed smiling woman gathering him into her lap for a cuddle; Han Solo’s face, creased with laughter, his hair light brown, his smile vibrant, relaxed, as he played with his son; she choked on nausea as the memory of Leia Organa gathering him up into her arms, sleepy for bed, carrying a stuffed toy, curling up in her warm embrace, safe and secure, was brutally ripped away, replaced with a memory of his failure - his punishment, inflicted by the Supreme Leader, as he deserved, as he knew to expect, as he would do anything to avoid in the future…because it was too much…

She felt him, then, the chaotic presence, the burning shadow flickering with starlight - she turned, and there he was.

And she forgot, where she began, when she became him, and he was her. Darkness and Light, she felt it like burning, her entire being seared with heat, with light, with shadow, branded by and forever entwined with him, an awing rope of lightning and molten gold, starlight and shadows, something that had…always been there, intangible - now, manifested between them, solid and fierce. It snapped into place, she _felt_ it, with a soft gasp of relief and ecstasy, temporarily robbed of conscious thought, luxuriating in the _feeling_ of being… _whole_. _Home_.

Her, molten-gold and luminous, sensuously intertwined with shadows and starlight, _him_.

Their minds, their hearts. _Connection_.

Breathless, disoriented, crippled by his pain, weightless from her own euphoria, she reached out, her hand luminous, and touched his chest, where his heart should be. The shadow gave way, solidifying to molten stone, embers, and finally…a glimpse of skin where her hand touched. A shadowy, indistinct hand reached out, and tears slipped down her face as she moaned in pain - _his_ pain - and he gently caressed her cheek, sinking to their knees, his flickering, shadowy ember face slowly taking form, grief-stricken, his face pale, dark eyes intense, bewildered, and his lips trembled, his head dropping onto her chest, as dry sobs racked his huge body, and she held his head to her tenderly, threading her fingers through his thick, soft hair.

The room swam back into existence, the grey walls seamless, the lighting harsh, glinting off his dark hair, and her knees ached where they pressed against the polished floor, shivering as tears streamed down her face, panting from pain, confusion, grief, ecstasy, and she blinked, dazed, growing awareness dawning that her fingers really were tangled through his lustrous hair…and his face _was_ tucked against her chest as his enormous body shook. She leaned down, her eyes streaming, and pressed her lips to his hair.

She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, on their knees, clinging to each other, his face against her chest, her face buried in his hair.

Finally, and far too soon for Rey, he lifted his head; she had to untangle her fingers from his silky hair, but they remained almost nose-to-nose. Tears slipped down her cheeks; but his grief was internalised. His face was dry, except for a beading of sweat on his brow.

He was used to concealing his emotions.

She knew. She had accessed years’ worth of his memories, saturated with pain, regret, shame, desperation, yearning, love, rage, fear…

It was all in his eyes.

Even without the helmet, he wore a mask. Only his eyes betrayed him. And he gazed at her as if he never wanted to look at anything else ever again. Only her.

Her lips parted. His pain radiated through her…and his embarrassment, that she had been able to witness it. That she had entered his mind. That she had seen _him_. Everything he concealed from the world, for his own protection.

“I… I am sorry,” she stammered, breathless, gazing beseechingly at him. For answers. What had happened between them? Why could she still _feel_ him? “ _What did I do_?”

He didn’t answer. His eyes widened. His lips parted, trembling subtly. He let go of her hands, which he had clasped between his own huge, gloved ones, and left her off-kilter when he stood up suddenly, looming over her.

He said nothing. Not a word. His eyes wide, he turned away from her. The set of his broad shoulders was tense, his entire body radiating confusion, awe, shame, wonder - he reached for his helmet. Didn’t put it on.

A door appeared in the seamless wall when he raised a gloved hand to a hidden panel.

“Ben…” Her voice broke when she said his name: And he froze, the sound of his soft gasp echoing in the silent room. She swallowed, panting, and asked, devastated, “Why are you giving so much of yourself, trying to convince someone who doesn’t matter that you’re the monster he wants you to believe you are?”

He stared at her, his dark eyes simmering with pain, confusion and awe. His lips trembled, he set his jaw, and he donned his helmet. His voice was altered when he said, curtly, “You know nothing.”

He disappeared. The door slid shut behind him, leaving a seamless expanse of wall. Rey sank onto her bottom, tucking her legs in front of her, and hugged her knees. As she cried silently, aching from his pain, his memories, she whispered, “Yes I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it’s half-past two in the morning, but I was determined to finish this chapter! It was loooong, and I’m not quite sure I got into writing how I wanted to portray their bond. 
> 
> I was watching Black Panther while I wrote this chapter, and I thought, I want those kimoyo beads. And their nano-tech holograms are amazing. I want them for Star Wars. Zsa Zsa was absolutely inspired by Shuri, hence my naming the beads in her honour.
> 
> Also, I ship Pinn…or is it Foe? I <3 Stormpilot.
> 
> There are a couple of face-claims for this chapter, characters I’ve introduced who will be returning later on. I’ll get to the other characters and their face-claims as and when they appear. So, for now:  
> Shireen, the Tholothian - Stormi Bree  
> Zsa Zsa, the Zabrak - a younger Zoё Kravitz


	10. The Tale of the Star-Killer and the Skittermouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve decided that Ben Solo, back when, had friends - and he actually had a very positive impact on the other padawans, no matter what Snoke convinced him of afterwards (powerful dark; powerful light). So in this fic, there were a couple of survivors of the destruction of the temple; and one of them is important to Rey’s acceptance of her bond with Kylo Ren and reconciling who he is, and who others knew him to be, his potential, and the damage Snoke has inflicted on him. I think that’s important, that someone else remembers Ben, because it’s implied in the novelisations, one of the reasons Ben gives everything to Rey, is because she was the last person alive who could have taught him how to be Ben. And that just breaks my heart.

**I Am Yours, You Are Mine**

_10_

_The Tale of the Star-Killer and the Skittermouse_

* * *

She sobbed silently, overwhelmed by his memories, until she had nothing more to give.

Until a little voice inside her head said gently, _This won’t do at all_.

And she blinked, taking a shuddering breath, and wiped her face on her sashes. Because it wouldn’t.

He had left without taking her memories of the map. He had left, shaken and overwhelmed…she had _frightened_ him. She had got inside his head…and she could still _feel_ him, through that sensuous cord of lightning and molten gold, starlight and shadows throbbing between them. Inside her mind, she could sense his presence, like a part of herself she hadn’t known she was missing. If she reached out, barely focusing, she could reach him, touch him, brush her hands against his mind, taste his emotions…he was a violent maelstrom of grief, confusion, rage, awe, dread and ecstasy, his heart aching with longing, even as he flinched at anticipated pain, dreading something…a meeting. Her face flickered through her mind - as _he_ saw her…and she was humbled and awed by the image, even as his mind raced, fragments reaching her - his awe at what she had done, and his equal dread at what she had seen inside his mind… His head ached, where her light had saturated his mind, shattering the warped deception of his memories, unnerving him - how…

He was confused, bewildered. She had ripped away what someone had spent over a decade turning him into. Ripping away the trickery, cracking open a vault of his own, true memories…light shone through his mind, healing some memories, saturating others with light again, warring against the most viciously stubborn ones…

Rey had shown him that what he had believed about himself was fiction. Someone’s attempts to overwrite him. To refashion him as something else, something vicious and violent and evil, locking away his memories of who he was, altering the past as it had truly happened…manipulating his memories, feeding on his worst fears, exploiting them. Exploiting _him_.

She had _undone him_ , she realised, her heart aching with guilt and shame.

She hadn’t meant to do it, get inside his head like that. Should never have gone rummaging around - but it had been…instinctual. To seek out what was torturing him, and eviscerate it. A swell of something hot swept over her… _protectiveness_.

She had never felt it before. Had never had anyone to feel it for.

Rey could never forget the boy with the staff.

And he was still there. Buried beneath decades’ worth of pain… She remembered her visions when she had touched the hilt of the lightsaber. Recognised the voice screaming as he fell endlessly through an impenetrable dark abyss, glimmers of light twinkling just out of reach, each attempt to snatch at one rendering him unimaginable pain…and no-one could hear him screaming…

No-one but her.

She felt his pain as her own, and fresh tears pricked at her eyes, startling her. She had thought she had none left. None for herself. Fresh tears for the boy with the staff, who was enduring unyielding torture.

Rey wiped her eyes, and made a conscious effort to sit still, to clear her mind…gentle…she coaxed the Light, let it saturate her body, soothe and cleanse her mind, drawing on an inner calm. She could not stay in this interrogation chamber, sobbing.

Not when she had everything she needed to escape. Or… Not _escape_ , she amended: she was a realist. Finn’s escape from the First Order had been one in a million.

She had several options, and the first she had to decide was in what manner she left this interrogation chamber. That determined what she could do later.

Rey thought of Finn…FN-2187. Stolen from his family as a small child, thrust into brutal training regimens, given a gun and fed propaganda to keep the weapon of the First Order constantly moving. The troopers she felt teasing flickers of beyond the seemingly seamless wall were like Finn. _Taken_. Warped and manipulated, deprived of their liberty, their history, their individuality. Taken and trained and intended to be utterly expendable. But it wasn’t just an empty suit of armour with a blaster. Inside that sleek white armour was a person. Another Finn.

She couldn’t be like the First Order, utterly uncaring of collateral, of the people they cut down to get what they wanted.

Rey wanted to be free. But she couldn’t condemn someone else to save her own life. And from the little Finn had told her about the First Order, she knew anyone assigned to stand guard outside her interrogation chamber would be…punished…if she used them to escape.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, closing her eyes, and practiced her meditation, letting the light saturate her body, bringing calm, and clarity. Rey had all she needed to escape. Her paracord bracelet, her hithline wrap, her utility pouch still threaded onto her belt.

Smiling to herself, she gave her manacles an assessing tug; the chains were slack, giving her relative freedom of movement. She wore her vambrace around one wrist, the leather battered and supple; and her paracord bracelet on the other, woven and intricate and more useful than it appeared - like Rey herself. The manacles themselves were clasped around her wrists, not so tight that she couldn’t move…and she was skinny and determined, and used to being in confining situations she had to figure her way out of without inflicting too much damage to herself.

Perhaps the First Order had assumed she wouldn’t think to try and free her hands. Reflecting, she knew the death-knell for the Empire had been their hubris: Assuming there could be nothing anyone could do to stop them, because of their arsenal. Ignoring the seemingly inconsequential but persistent efforts of the Rebel Alliance, which they believed _beneath_ their notice, as an annoyance, nothing more.

She freed her right hand first, using her leather vambrace to protect her skin from the manacle as she wriggled, pulled, squeezed her hand through the gleaming metal. She was skinny; she had slender fingers and she was _small_ \- her thumb knuckle screamed in protest, and she grimaced, shivering and slightly nauseated, as the skin on her thumb came away in spite of the vambrace’s protection. It wasn’t bad, certainly not the worst injury Rey had ever sustained, but blood always made things look dire.

The next part was trickier. She had to unknot her paracord bracelet, and twist it so that it formed a wedge between her wrist and the manacle, so she could feed through the leather vambrace she unbuckled from her other arm, lining the manacle and protecting her hand as she repeated the process of wriggling, squeezing, manipulating her thumb through the manacle. It took longer, and it looked far messier, because her right thumb kept bleeding, but she did it - this time, without skinning anything. Shaking at the exertion, finding herself lightheaded, a little nauseous - how long had it been since she had last eaten? Was it _because_ she had eaten so richly in Maz’s cantina that nausea roiled in her stomach at her efforts, and the sight of her own blood, tiny droplets vibrant against the polished floor. She rested back against the wall, briefly, and must have drifted off for a little while.

Her nausea had subsided when she opened her eyes, her body no longer trembling. Her head was clearer. And, most importantly, her hands were still free.

Rey assessed her position. Gauged her surroundings, and the tools she had at her disposal.

Hubris.

She smiled, reaching for the utility pouch on her hip. She had left almost everything on-board the _Falcon_ , but her pouch, in which she carried everything she could not survive in the desert without, was still belted to her waist. She quickly unzipped the pouch, doing a mental inventory of its contents. She packed everything back up, climbed off the floor, and assessed the only break in the seemingly seamless walls: The control panel for the interrogation apparatus - the torture-chair.

 _There’s always a way out_ , she thought, standing before the panel of angrily blinking, flashing buttons and switches. _Always_.

This panel would have to be accessed somehow, by either a droid or a technician, in the event of functional errors. If what she knew of _Destroyers_ could be applied to this base, she knew that behind this panel of flashing buttons was the guts of the interrogation apparatus, the computers and processors that gave it functionality. And beyond _that_ …a service passage. The _Destroyers_ she had grown up stripping for parts were lousy with warrens of service passages, so maintenance could be ongoing without disrupting military protocols.

So, all she had to do was get behind this panel, behind the processors.

Not to sound cocky, but Rey could do this in her sleep.

She was regaining her footing, as it were.

Prising the panel from the wall, with absolutely no observers, not letting herself think of any possible time-crunch - she had done this before, whilst being shot at by the Strus clan, and _that_ was an experience she didn’t care to repeat - but _this_ … She retained her composure, guided by calm and focus. She knew what she needed to do to get out of this interrogation chamber.

When they noticed her absence was when it would get tricky. She had no idea how long it would be before he returned, _if_ he returned, if he didn’t send others in his place to interrogate her in their own way.

She had several options, once she found her way into the service corridors.

Steal a weapon, perhaps some armour, and try to fly her way out. After Finn’s daring escape with the pilot, she doubted the First Order could be taken by surprise a second time. They would also _expect_ her to try and steal a ship to escape.

She hadn’t made her way to Jakku by stealing ships. Yes, she had left Jakku by stealing an admittedly stolen freighter…but Rey had found herself in Jakku by smuggling herself on-board various starships.

She didn’t need to steal. She just needed to bide her time. Evade certain death, for as long as she could: what she had been preparing for her entire life. Always keeping a step ahead, no matter how bruised and battered and hobbled she was as she kept one foot in front of the other, outpacing death. She could wait, and stow away on a vessel scheduled for departure.

 _Or_ … After what the First Order had done to the Hosnian System…

If she could get out of this chamber, she had an opportunity. The likelihood of a clean escape was laughable, she knew. She would likely die in the attempt.

But before she died, she could do what she could to help the Resistance, ensure no other star systems became a part of history spoken of in hushed, horrified tones, the same way Alderaan still was. The way the Hosnian System would be. If there was anyone left who dared to remember them.

She dug through her utility pouch, thinking better of using some of the rare, expensive and precious bacta fluid she had in a little bottle to heal her thumb: She might need it later. It was only a flesh wound. She picked out her tools, and got to work.

Without the Strus clan firing at her, she found it an almost disappointingly _easy_ task.

The interrogation chamber hadn’t been designed to hold a scavenger like her, who knew how to dismantle everything from the inside out.

With a soft hiss, pressure released, and, marvelling at the ease of it, the panel of blinking, flashing lights receded back, into shadow.

Rey followed it.

She climbed in, always assessing, and tucked her hithline sashes into her belt, to prevent them snagging. She was used to being confined, used to the dark, had defeated brutal claustrophobia early in her life after constant exposure, getting stuck in awkward places and harrowing positions that should have killed her - one memorable occasion had had Unkar Plutt using his own coveted supply of bacta to heal her twisted neck. His one act of unselfishness. She shivered in the gloom, choosing not to think about that. She had enough nightmares to contend with - _his_ \- without lingering on her own: She had survived, after all. Why should she let it terrorise her now?

The blinking panel stopped moving, seams of antiseptic white light framing it. The whole system hissed gently, and the lights went out. Everything automatically powered down for maintenance.

It was exactly like the _Destroyer_. Subtle variations - but at its core, the design of this part of the facility, at least, had been replicated from the torture-chambers on the _Destroyers_ she had scavenged from. She had evaded the Strus clan purely accidentally, climbing through the panel this exact same way, discovering a vent in the panelling, siphoning off heat and fumes from the processors. That vent ran adjacent to the processor, directly into the service-passage beyond.

She smiled to herself, astounded by the sheer _laziness_ of the engineers, repeating what had worked for the Empire in terms of design and functionality, and felt around until she found the grate over the vent. She unfastened the screws, lifted the grate away, and peered into the vent: Light filtered through another grate at the other end. A fan remained idle, the interrogation processors powered down, and she knew just how to dismantle it. Folding herself up as small as she could, she climbed into the vent, backwards, her legs crossed in front of her, so she would be able to shimmy around and devote herself to the fan, after lifting the grate back in place.

There was no need to signpost her escape. She made sure the screws were all in place before lifting the grate into place, and sat, perfectly still, drawing on the Light…telekinetically tightening the screws, until the grate was secured in place, as if it had never been removed. She shimmied on her bottom, turning her attention to the fan, using her tools and her gloved fingertips, managing to remove the fan. She climbed through the apparatus, and replaced the fan.

She sat in front of the second grate, and waited.

This was the service corridor.

She could encounter maintenance droids, or she could encounter human technicians. Or both. She sat, cross-legged and crouched - but calm. She let her calm drift from her, reaching out…seeking life. She sensed none, at least not immediately near her.

This was where it got a little tricky. The grate was not a separate piece of the wall: It was inbuilt. Meaning, she couldn’t just unscrew the grate, climb out and replace it, the way she had on the _Destroyer_. She had to remove the entire panel, which was actually easier, because it had been secured from the inside, from _her_ side - the First Order shared the Empire’s pathological need for absolute neatness, not a single break in the sleek lines and symmetry of their base, even the service corridors aesthetically seamless.

She unscrewed the top bolts, which took some doing, her arms aching with the effort. Then the bolt in the bottom left-hand corner. Then she wedged the wire of her paracord bracelet, bent out to form a hook, underneath the panel to stop it dropping and clattering loudly, letting the entire base know where she was, gripping the grate with her gloved fingertips, and wielded the Force again, using telekinetic energy to control the lowering of the panel to the floor.

Light filled the little vent passage. No-one shot at her, and she cautiously peeked out, to her left, then her right. Assessing. No-one came to investigate. There were no droids. No sounds of human life. She reached out again, sensed nothing - no-one but the two guards left outside her interrogation chamber, both of them bored, their legs sore, eager for shift-change, which wouldn’t come for another three hours. Glad that Kylo Ren had not returned. Hiding their amusement at the sounds they had heard from the interrogation chamber hours ago… Rey’s cheeks flushed at what she felt from one of the troopers, what he had inferred from the noises… Startled, she shook it off, and quietly climbed out of the vent. The service corridor was narrow - _too narrow_ for most fully-grown adults to manoeuvre easily, especially carrying heavy gear to make repairs. This wasn’t a domain of humans.

She only knew what _he_ did about the First Order’s structure: She knew the entire organisation was purely human, no matter that they used and discarded humanoid and alien informants and allies at their leisure. They used droids with only the most basic processors to carry out essential engineering maintenance, comfortable in their superiority that no-one could ever escape the interrogation-chamber through a service corridor to start wreaking havoc it would take months, if not longer, to bypass or replace.

Rey was not confident that she was not being monitored by unseen cameras, and would be met by a firing squad as soon as she left the service corridors, but she was at least secure in assessing her surroundings, knowing the wide armour of a Stormtrooper would not allow freedom of movement in this narrow passage. For her, a skinny scavenger from Jakku…oh, this was her natural habitat. Crawling through the walls, nibbling at the wiring, plucking choice mechanical parts…

She first had to restore the panel: And then return the processor unit to its proper place, leaving no evidence of how she had escaped.

The trickiest part was using telekinetic energy to screw the bolts back in, when she was absolutely blind to it. She tucked the panel in place, did what she could, and carefully removed her hold, backing away, hoping it would hold. She turned to the processors, and, pressing a simple sequence of buttons, the whole unit hissed softly, and slowly slid back into place, tucking neatly into the wall.

That was over with.

Now…

Rey was a scavenger. She had learned over a lifetime what made things _work_.

And, crucially, how to dismantle things without them blowing up in her face. The mechanical parts of greatest value, even if they seemed insignificant; and the havoc incorrect wiring could create without anyone realising, until it was too late.

 _There’s always a way around_. It was a fact of her life. There was always a way to get to what she wanted, no matter the obstacles: Sometimes, it was simply a matter of perspective.

Ultimately, once she had acknowledged the obstacle, there were only two options: Gear up, count her lucky stars, and smash right through - or adjust, and find a way to work _around_ it. Nine times out of ten, the second option proved the wisest course of action, at least for Rey personally.

She had been inside his head. She knew where she was. She knew the layout of Starkiller Base. Knew its vulnerabilities, reflecting on the many risk-assessment briefings he had endured with the First Order’s high command. Knew the engineering of Starkiller Base was little different to the Death Stars, which were essentially the engineering of a _Destroyer_ on a far grander scale. There was little ingenuity in First Order engineering beyond the ever-increasing size of their arsenals. The actual design and layout of their ships, their bases, their star-system-murdering planet, were essentially recycled, from the Empire to the First Order, with no thought to improving what was already functional.

Rey had grown up exploring the ravaged Imperial legacy: nothing more than burned out starships half-buried in the sand.

She could navigate her way through the hidden interior workings of a _Destroyer_ blindfolded.

For the Hosnian System, for the Resistance, for herself, Rey would unleash havoc.

He had called her little better than a Jawa. She took offence to that.

But she _was_ a little skittermouse.

The earliest nickname she remembered Unkar Plutt giving her, and the only one she had ever liked. Skittermouse. Tiny, with sharp teeth. They could pick a carcass clean in seconds.

A Starkiller Base was all very well…but a single little skittermouse, gnawing at the essential wiring…oh, the sweet chaos she would unleash.

There were many ways to fundamentally incapacitate their operations, without them realising it until it was too late. Until the functions they needed to correct things they didn’t know were compromised were revealed to be destroyed. 

At least she would die knowing she had done all she could to sabotage the First Order’s new prize weapon, even if no-one would ever know it.

She started, as a gentle voice sifted through her mind, a memory - not hers - of a pretty woman with soft, stern blue-green eyes, tiny kisses tucked into the corners of her exquisite mouth as she said, “ _We didn’t expect to survive - it was a fluke that we_ did _. It didn’t matter who we were, which worlds we came from, or who we would leave behind - because we knew it was our only choice. Our only chance. We fought, and we made ten men feel like a hundred. We stole the plans from the archives of Scarif, transmitted the Death Star schematics to Admiral Raddus’s command ship… They made their way to Luke Skywalker, and_ that _is how the Empire fell. Not with brave feats of piloting, or bombs of incomprehensible power…with people. With_ hope _, that we would leave this galaxy a better place through our efforts, even if we never got to see it_.”

The woman from the bombed star-port. Her body no longer riddled with shrapnel, bled out, her daughter using her body as cover, peppered with plasma blasts and bullets, but beautiful, serene, stern but giving, compassionate, her smile haunted but resilient, sadness swirling with joy and hope in those beautiful blue-green eyes. She was cuddling a dark-eyed little girl, while two boys cuddled in their shared cot - both brown-eyed, but one had soft rich brown hair and seemed to radiate warmth and sweetness, the other had inky midnight waves that teased at his adorably large ears, his dark, troubled eyes shining out in awe from a pale, slender face. The woman stood, her swollen belly prominent, and the black-haired boy sighed, resting against his pillow, his eyes on the bump, feeling out with his emotions…sensing her light, vibrant and fierce, strong…pure. He sighed, and closed his eyes, allowing that light to drift through him, chasing away his worries - worries about his mother, smiling less and less as she worked harder with the Senate, speaking in low tones with his father and Uncle Luke, all of them uneasy, worried about something too big for him to comprehend, a whisper…a faceless enemy with only a name… _Snoke_. The First Order.

It was because Aunt Jyn sensed his worries about his mother that she had told the story of how the Rebel Alliance had stolen the schematics for the Death Star. It wasn’t about weapons and armies…it was always about _people_.

While there were still people willing to fight, to give their lives for a cause greater than their own, the galaxy would remain free.

“You’re going to worry yourself to distraction, Ben,” said Aunt Jyn softly, reaching out to tenderly stroke his hair, tucking it behind his ears, which the older girls always teased him about. _Fathier_ , they nicknamed him. “I know you worry about your mother, with all this talk about the First Order causing trouble… While there is Light, there is _hope_.”

She leaned in, pressing her forehead tenderly to his, sighing, content, for a moment. Her lips were smiling as she withdrew, and the memory faded as he sank into a restful sleep free of dreams, just the coaxing warmth of the golden light growing in Aunt Jyn’s belly.

 _Rey_. She sensed the light, recognised it instantly.

 _Mother_ , Rey moaned, bereft.

She swallowed, blinking quickly, and tucked the memory away, claiming it as her own - and refusing to ask the dozen questions that arose from what she had witnessed. The story - stolen schematics for the Death Star. _Her_ mother. Him sensing _Rey_ in her mother’s womb… And what was a Fathier?

Rey shook her head, startled and awed, confused, and scolded herself: She had to decide what she wanted to do first. What was topmost on her list of priorities, if she could only do _one_ thing to help the Resistance?

Surely they would respond to the Hosnian System’s destruction? Surely they had spies out scouting for the First Order’s bases, as surely as the First Order was hunting for them in turn?

Communications and shields.

Communications, to call for reinforcement or alert their representatives in different systems to launch an attack: and shields, to protect their terrifying new weapon from an onslaught of angry Resistance fighter-pilots.

Rey knew what she had to do. Nibble away at the wirings, scavenge the choice components through the process of dismantling essential operations.

Create havoc.

Keep them busy putting out fires in one place while she lit three more in other parts of the base.

If she felt confident, well…what choice did she have? And what better chance, to give the First Order a nasty nip?

 _No better than a Jawa!_ she scoffed, indignant, as she padded through the service corridors, learning her way. Yes, it was very like a _Destroyer_.

She got to work. In the back of her mind, she kept tabs on _him_ , through his emotions.

It wasn’t until hours later that rage and a glint of despair burned through the bond like an explosion: She winced, her hands shaking with the ferocity of it, his explosive temper, and fought against the surge of rage that threatened to overwhelm _her_.

She closed a door on it, as if she was watching his rage through protective glass. She was aware of it, could keep an eye on it, but she was protecting herself from him. From his overwhelming emotions. His rage, and the underlying glimmer of desolation - that she…had made things so much harder _for herself_ by running… The sensation overwhelmed her, for a moment. His anger, his anguish at losing her, his confusion at their connection, embarrassment at her delving into _his_ mind and shame at what she had found, his yearning and confusion over the memories she had saturated with light…the urgency to find her, desperate to be near her…

Rey was aware of it all. Didn’t understand _why_ she felt his emotions as her own, but appreciated…the yearning - their _connection_ …

She just…couldn’t be lost to it. To _him_.

She scouted her surroundings for her escape route and got to work, digging her tools out of her pouch. She refused to give in to the emotions rampaging beyond that protective barrier she had thrown up, persistent though they were - he was only getting angrier, his rage white-hot, honed with purpose.

How long since she had escaped her confinement? Hours, definitely. And she scuttled through the bowels of the First Order base, unobserved, unencumbered. Free to wreak havoc. No-one ever noticed a lone skittermouse. But the damage they could inflict on the unwary…

There was no sense of time, tucked in the service corridors. Artificial light was her ally, guiding her through the warren of corridors and chambers and stretches of passage that led to networks of droid hubs she backtracked from before she could be noticed. As she had all her life, she found alternative routes, ways around the base, ways to circumnavigate the technology that made the entire base run smoothly. She was still careful, though, never allowing herself to forget that she _was_ on Star-Killer Base, not back on Jakku in another wrecked _Destroyer_.

When the blinking lights of another exquisite flowtronics panel merged together, blurry and making her dizzy, Rey knew she could do no more, not without resting. She had to risk it.

One thing that she owned, and always kept on her person, was immeasurably valuable to her, was her sand-wraps. Hithline, the fabric was called. Thin, but durable, strong as steel, and responsive due to the nanothread technology woven into it. The length of it that she wore, looped over her body, had taken her years’ worth of scavenging to trade for, building up credits.

The fabric was multifunctional, like her paracord bracelet: She could use it as clothing, but also as shelter, as a hammock to sleep in, or a sling for injuries, to bind a splint, turn into a satchel - she had seen others in Tuanul bind their infants to their bodies - or as a rope. She had had the length of hithline fabric for five years and it had been worth it. She had used the fabric every day, in one way or another, not merely just decoratively draped over her meagre threadbare hemp top and silk trousers. Now, Rey found a shadowed corner she had already scouted earlier as a place to hide, and used the hithline, knotted across the passage in a double zigzag to create a hammock, letting her lie, suspended above any of the droids that might venture around this particular corner. She climbed up, arranging herself on the hithline sashes, and had to trust that she could relax for an hour or two, and get some sleep.

She had been gathering bits and pieces of tech and parts in her utility pouch, especially the expensive, hard-to-find pieces. It was the habit of a lifetime, not to let anything so precious slip out of her hands: if she had been on Jakku, her findings would have earned her ration-packs numbering in the _dozens_. Such wealth…nowhere to spend it. She secured the zip of her utility-pouch, and let her heavy eyes close.

Rey dreamed of him.

He kept asking where she was, holding out his hand to her. Asking her to join him.

She said no, grumpy at the interruption, hitched those protective barriers in place, and slept on.

* * *

He’d done all he could. Remembered all the details. But with time a precious commodity, and no tech to share, limited vocabulary to explain the details they needed, Finn hoped it was enough.

If it wasn’t, General Organa wasn’t going to blame him.

She wasn’t what he had expected.

Poe had described the legendary general thus: “She has delicious, wicked humour and fiery energy, but she’s also sweet, and graceful.”

The woman Finn was introduced to, in the bustling, deceptively-chaotic high command centre, was petite, with warm brown eyes and a coil of steel-grey braids wrapped around her head like a halo. She wore a serviceable jumpsuit under a neat vest, polished boots, and her only adornment was a gleaming belt-buckle. But what struck Finn wasn’t her small stature, or the way she dressed. It was how she held herself. As she interacted with everyone, from Vice Admirals to technicians, respect radiated from her, compassion, and patience, and it transferred from one person to another, not mimicking her but emulating her example. Calm, considerate, wise, with a flicker of humour, a gentle smile and unyielding purpose.

When Poe introduced Finn, the General didn’t look at Finn with distaste, as a former Stormtrooper. Her enemy.

She _praised_ Finn for his _bravery_.

And she offered her sympathies, acknowledging that Rey had been taken: Han had already told her about Rey.

Her dark eyes widened, beseeching, as the older General asked Finn for any information he could possibly give to help their efforts against the First Order.

When they took Rey was when Finn had decided who he was. He wasn’t going to run. As he had in the burning star-port, he would _fight_ , against the odds.

He’d do all he could to protect his friend.

She had no-one to look out for her. No-one - until Finn. Just like he’d had no-one, until Poe; and when he had lost Poe, he had found Rey. Poe was alive; but Rey had been taken.

Smiling contentedly, satisfied with the meagre intel Finn had provided, General Organa started, her neat eyebrows rising at the lightsaber clipped to his belt, and her lips parted.

“Where did you get that?” she breathed, her voice wondrous. Finn started, unclipping the lightsaber.

“Uh… Maz Kanata had it; she said it called to Rey,” Finn said, offering it to the General. She took it, closing her eyes as she held the hilt in her hands, a sense of calm radiating from her as she took several breaths. She ignited the blade carefully, pure blue-white, and half the command centre turned to stare, their mouths hanging open. Finn had never seen a real lightsaber before Maz had thrust it at him earlier. And wielding it…he wasn’t an expert, by any stretch of the imagination, but Finn had felt as if the saber was wielding Finn, guiding his movements, and something had…unlocked, as he fought. Resolve and determination had filled him, fired him, and an eerie perception had flowed through him, anticipating his opponent’s moves, parrying plasma blasts with barely a glance… It had been the most surreal experience of his life, and deep down, Finn had felt as if he was meant to wield a saber. He was a good shot with a blaster, but the lightsaber… Power and precision, every second a _choice_ that determined who lived or died, and granted him the power of mercy, to make that decision. As Rey had said earlier, he had other _options_ besides shooting a person.

“ _Maz_ had it?” General Organa gaped, her dark eyes widening. “Now that’ll be a story worth hearing.” Finn had seen holograms of the Princess of Alderaan when she had fought with the Rebel Alliance, thirty odd years ago. She had been beautiful then; she was handsome now, and her dark eyes were still beautiful. She turned those eyes on Finn, with a warm smile, offering him the saber, elegance and warmth radiating from her. “If Maz says it called to your friend, you’d best keep it safe for her.”

“But it’s an heirloom of _your_ family,” Finn said, blinking. Even Finn knew that. The Skywalker lightsaber. Everyone knew Leia Organa and Luke Skywalker were twins, separated at birth - to protect them from their biological father, the fallen Jedi who had become Darth Vader. It had been a victory for the First Order, outing Leia Organa’s true genetic history to the Senate, effectively blocking any attempts she was making to take Chancellorship - the greatest threat to the First Order. With Leia Organa at the helm of the New Republic…

They had exposed her. She was a Skywalker by blood, if not by name, and how she was raised and what she stood for, what she had fought for, should have been more than enough for people to ignore that fragile tie to Darth Vader - but people weren’t that wise, and the First Order had done all it could to sabotage her, dreading her influence as a highly educated freedom-fighter who had grown up in the Senate and knew how it worked, and had a network of friends and allies to support her. She was a threat to everything the First Order stood for.

She still went by the name Organa. Not her brother’s name, or her husband’s - Finn had never had his own name until a few days ago, and he was struck by the importance of it. She was Leia Organa. She honoured those who had raised her, reminding everyone of the fate of Alderaan every time they heard her name - and of her own legacy, in spite of her family’s.

The lightsaber had belonged to her biological father, who had become Darth Vader. It had been passed down to Luke Skywalker, before it was lost in Cloud City after a confrontation with Vader.

General Organa smiled sadly.

“And yet it called to your friend through the Force,” she said softly. “She’s meant to have it. Keep it safe for her. And we’ll see if we can’t do everything we can to get her back.”

A silver-haired man with sombre black eyes appeared: He was one of the officers, Finn could tell instantly by his khaki-green tunic and a rank-badge gleaming in place - blue for the Navy, red for the Army. The only person who didn’t wear their rank on their lapel was General Organa. Everyone knew who she was. “General. The reconnaissance report on the enemy base has come in.”

“We are ready for you!” Finn took the lightsaber back, thrown off completely by the appearance of the young Zabrak girl from the star-port, the one who had been talking to the beautiful Tholothian. She had an unusual accent, and a sweet smile, her violet eyes glimmering with excitement. Finn noticed she wore a bracelet of the same beads she had taken from the Tholothian woman earlier, and she went to stand beside an older Zabrak woman who looked very like her, too young to be her mother but definitely a relative, dressed in unusual leather armour over a tunic, her hair plaited neatly in thicker braids, artfully arranged around slightly more prominent horns, cascading into a ponytail down her back, and her face was intricately tattooed, more artful and less aggressively than most Zabraks were known to be tattooed. She also wore a link of those beads; and she reached out to the younger girl without looking at her, tenderly stroking her braids, deep in discussion with a human male with shining brown hair, richly-tanned skin and an eye-patch that mimicked the same visceral steely-blue colouring of the beads. He perched on the edge of a console, his posture relaxed, muscled arms crossed over his chest, and again, Finn saw a link of those beads clasped around his wrist. He wore no rank-badge, or the khaki-green uniform most of the officers wore, recycled from the Rebellion - as the pilots’ flight-suits were - but there was an indefinable aura of authority around him. Out of the many people gathered, he seemed to own the room - or at least, was one of the few people who could command the attention of most of the people in it without doing anything but laugh richly at something the young Zabrak girl said as she wrangled his arms out of their folded position, the beads clacking softly as she freed them from his wrist, closely examining them, then linking them together with her own bracelet of beads, speaking seemingly to herself as she tenderly tapped some of the beads in a sequence only she understood, the beads flashing vibrant lightning-blue, some of them fading, glyphs seared into others, one glowing fully blue.

Finn had never seen tech like it. And he wasn’t the only one watching the girl with a combination of awe and bewilderment. He became suddenly aware that the command centre was crammed full of people, not just the officers but pilots, technicians and medics, some of them glancing curiously at Finn as he clipped the lightsaber to his belt, others focusing on the young girl, sharing dubious glances with their neighbours, but most had turned to a tall, bearded man in a red flight-suit. A hush fell over the room, anticipation charging the air, and Finn glanced uncertainly at Poe, who was watching the young girl with a mixture of scepticism and quiet awe.

“Some of you know, we’ve got a new recruit. This is Finn, a defector from the First Order. Now he’s provided crucial intel on the First Order’s base of operations - something we’ve been desperate for, for too long,” Poe said, and several people glanced at Finn, their faces showing appreciation, surprise, respect - Finn was used to blank helmets. It was unnerving, so many eyes on him, but he glanced at Poe, who grinned easily at him for a second. Then he sighed heavily, shaking his head. “I’m sorry to say the scan data gathered from Snap’s reconnaissance flight confirms the details Finn laid out for us.”

“They’ve somehow created a hyper-lightspeed weapon built within the planet itself,” said Snap Wexley, veteran of the Battle of Jakku. He looked appalled at the memory of the Star-Killer Base he had witnessed first-hand. Finn knew the feeling. There was no way to truly appreciate the scale of Star-Killer Base without _seeing_ it. “Something that can fire across interstellar distances in the equivalent of real-time. I’ve had my share of technical training, but I can’t even imagine how that’s possible.”

“On the base, we heard rumours that it fires through a hole in the continuum that it makes itself. Everybody was calling it ‘sub’-hyperspace,” Finn spoke up. “That’s how it appeared like the weapon was fired just moments before the Hosnian System was destroyed; it doesn’t just reach _across_ the galaxy, it punches _through_ it.”

“It sounds like another Death Star,” Major Ematt moaned disbelievingly; he had been in on Finn’s briefing with Poe and General Organa, Han and several more of the high command.

“It’s…far worse. We’re not sure how to describe a weapon of this scale,” Poe said, and he sighed heavily, turning to the young Zabrak girl. “Zsa Zsa, do you want to take over?”

“This was the Death Star. Pardon the dated hologram, it is a copy of the schematics _Rogue One_ stole from Scarif,” said the girl, Zsa Zsa, as she held out her hand. One of the blue-grey beads separated from the others and rolled into her palm, where the etchings on its surface flickered for a moment, then projected a hologram above her hand, blue, flickering, practically antique. Finn watched the girl in fascination, as she plucked a second bead from her bracelet and gently squeezed it between thumb and forefinger. The entire bead glowed vibrant lightning-blue, and she let go: the bead hovered in mid-air, then started to disintegrate, particles of blue-grey light drifting outwards, connected by flickering threads of light, and Finn’s jaw wasn’t the only one to unhinge as a _planet_ grew in front of their eyes. Not just a basic scan, but…exquisitely detailed.

Finn, who had approached Star-Killer Base on many occasions from space, suffered déjà vu as he watched the planet grow, complete with snow-capped mountain-ranges, cloud-cover, thermal readings, manmade structures, even the blue-white sheen of the ice meadows and the unending snow-forests of Ilum were captured in incomprehensible detail, every nook and cranny, every crevasse and lonely peak.

If he squinted, he could even see tiny starships the size of ants entering the main hangar.

“And this…this is what they call Star-Killer Base,” said Snap Wexley, his tone grim, even while his face was awash with shock and awe at the three-dimensional rendering of the planet. A vibrant sun hovered, too, orbiting the planet, casting half of the planet in shadow.

Finn had never seen anything like this three-dimensional rendering. No-one had.

“Look at her…she’s _exquisite_ ,” Zsa Zsa whispered, and the room was so quiet everyone heard her. She had her hands clasped over her heart, looking like she was gasping for air. “Is this what it feels like to give birth?” She glanced at the man with the eye-patch, whose smile was indulgent, shaking his head softly. “Sometimes I amaze even myself. Look at what I’ve _made_.”

“Look what _they’ve_ made,” Poe said, his face stark.

“They’ve created their weapon out of the planet _itself_.

“They chose Ilum.” It was the woman who looked like Zsa Zsa who spoke, and she had a similar lyrical accent, but her cheeks had turned ashen as she gazed at the planet. She turned her eyes to General Organa.

“Is that significant, Hatshepsut?” Poe asked, eyes widening.

“The planet has a heart of pure kyber crystal,” said Hatshepsut. “For millennia, the Jedi sent their padawans to the caves of Ilum to claim a crystal to power their first lightsaber. There was was…nowhere more sacred.”

“That’s why they drilled through the planet. The weapon system was built _through_ the planetary core; Ilum was chosen _because_ it has a heart of kyber,” Finn said. “From what I understand - and, I’m not a technician so you’ll have to make your own inferences from what I’m telling you - specially designed collectors use the power of the sun to attract and send dark energy to a containment unit at the core of the planet, where it is held until the weapon is ready to fire.”

“They harness the power of Ilum’s suns. As the weapon is charged, the sun is drained. Until there’s nothing left.”

“That is why they chose Ilum; all that kyber absorbs the energy,” Zsa Zsa remarked softly, her eyes glinting, and she raised her hands, as if to touch the projection. She gesticulated, and the projection exploded, showing them…the heart of the planet, the core exposed by the First Order as they prepared Star-Killer Base to be the weapon with which they dominated the galaxy, picked up by Zsa Zsa’s beads. It wasn’t as detailed as the external scans, but how could it be? The three-dimensional imagery still made the Death Star schematics look like a small child’s rendering. Zsa Zsa and the scientists and technicians in the room leaned in, analysing what they could see. “This here…a conduit?” She tracked the structure back to the surface of the planet, to a massive hexagonal structure. She glanced at Finn. “What is this, here? What is this building?”

“Precinct Forty-Seven. They randomly assign us to patrols there, but it’s empty, except for maintenance droids. Look, I don’t know science, but I heard someone say it houses the containment and oscillation field control system.”

His head was starting to hurt from trying to explain what he didn’t understand.

Movement flickered through the gathering, and someone handed a folded note to General Organa. She read it, and gazed around, people either gazing in awe and horror at Zsa Zsa’s recreation or murmuring between themselves about what Finn had disclosed about the weapon.

“The First Order is recharging their weapon again now. Our system is the next target,” she said solemnly. “They know we’re here.” She turned to several of the younger, though no less respected officers. “Sound the alarm for evacuation. All but personnel essential to this mission, scatter. And send out word to our friends.”

“Without the Republic fleet, we’re doomed,” the golden protocol droid with the one red arm moaned. Everyone ignored him.

“Okay, how do we blow it up?” Han asked, sensibly. “There’s always a way to do that.”

“Han’s right,” General Organa said, and Finn saw the flicker of astonishment Han hid from the petite older woman, concealing the smile tugging at his lips.

“This is _perfect_ ,” Zsa Zsa declared, still staring thoughtfully at the planet, slowly orbiting in front of them. Several of the adults gave her horrified looks: She was too busy murmuring to her bracelet of beads, which shimmered as if responding to her voice. She placed the beads on the console in front of her: The beads dissolved, reforming into a miniature console, and she tapped her fingertips rapidly against different symbols and glyphs shimmering lightning-blue as she gazed at the planet. As she tapped, the projection altered. Simulating the process of the weapon charging itself, the little sun orbiting Ilum was reduced as light and power were sucked into the planet’s core. “They are drawing all the power of the sun into the heart of the planet itself, containing all that pure energy…the oscillator is the only thing preventing the planet from spontaneous combustion. But you compromise the oscillator…She tapped frenziedly, and the projection changed, simulated explosions taking out the hexagonal Precinct Forty-Seven. A chain-reaction occurred, spreading through the Precinct, to the main base, deep into the planet’s core. Igniting the power contained within the kyber. The planet imploded. “The First Order will be destroyed by its own creation.”

Finn wasn’t entirely sure which he was more impressed by: the Resistance’s decision to take their one and only chance to destroy the First Order’s weapon…or Zsa Zsa’s mind-boggling technology.

“This is what you’ve been tinkering with in Galen’s lab?” General Organa blinked dazedly at Zsa Zsa, as if she had been sucker-punched.

“One of the things, yes. And Mr Wexley didn’t want to take the shuri beads,” Zsa Zsa clicked her tongue, and Hatshepsut rolled her eyes in amusement at the good-looking, genial man with the eye-patch, who was chuckling softly. Zsa Zsa smirked playfully at Snap Wexley, and chirped, “Disrespect.”

“I’ll never question you again,” Snap Wexley promised her, to general amusement. Zsa Zsa, for a second, looked very young, and very pleased - delighted to have her creations respected, her brilliance acknowledged. Finn wondered where in the galaxy they had found her - he reflected grimly that something awful had to have happened, for her to be so active in the Resistance at such a young age.

“When you have destroyed Star-Killer Base, you can grovel for my forgiveness, sir,” Zsa Zsa said, but she was smiling brightly.

“What else can those things do?” General Organa asked, eyeing the beads that reformed as if at a thought from Zsa Zsa, suddenly marble-sized beads flickering lightning-blue as she draped the bracelet around her wrist.

“Well, they won’t be any good in this fight, that’s for certain,” Zsa Zsa sighed. She pulled at thoughtful face. “But give me a few weeks.”

“We’ll go in, we’ll hit them with everything that we’ve got,” Poe declared, and others around him nodded enthusiastically. Finn had seen him in action: if anyone had a shot at destroying the oscillator, and by default Star-Killer Base, it was Poe Dameron.

“They have defensive shields that our ships cannot penetrate,” Admiral Ackbar reminded them.

“We disable the shields,” Han said, raising his eyebrows.

“That I _can_ help with - but someone would need to get on the ground,” Zsa Zsa spoke up, nodding eagerly. She held up her wrist, the beads shimmering. “You can use these to give me remote access to their systems - I can override all their protocols, drop their shields, all of it.”

“I’ll do it,” Finn said, seizing on the opportunity. The only opportunity - to rescue Rey. “I know _exactly_ where the main control hub is, just show me how to work those things and I’ll set it up.”

“We’ll get you there, kid,” Han said sombrely.

“Han, how?” General Organa asked.

“If I told you, you wouldn’t like it,” Han said, his voice heavy, but his face was unapologetic, if tired, when he turned to face his wife.

“So we take out the shields, we blow up the oscillator, and we take out their big gun,” Poe said, simplifying everything into terms Finn could appreciate. And everyone else seemed to, as well: there was no need for agonisingly long briefings and detailed explanations no-one listened to. They knew their jobs. They knew how to work together. They would get the job done; but the _how_ would vary depending on a hundred different factors that would be constantly shifting.

They’d improvise.

Before they departed, people turned automatically to General Organa, as if expecting something. They looked to her for leadership, Finn realised, but also for _hope_. For inspiration. For courage, and comfort.

“While we prepare to hit Star-Killer Base, we’ll start the evacuation. High command will move to the _Raddus_. We’ll be the last to evacuate the base. We’ve done this a half-dozen times before, we know what we have to do. As soon as you get to your new bases, disseminate the information about Star-Killer Base, prepare our forces, in case this team fails. We find new footing in different worlds around the galaxy, ones the New Order has no interest in, consolidate our influence and build our strength. It’s more crucial than ever that we reaffirm ties with our friends and allies throughout the galaxy, let them know that even though the New Republic is gone, _we_ remain. And we will keep fighting. Let new allies know we will fight for their freedom,” General Organa said, and there were murmurs of agreement, everyone nodding, smiling even in the face of uncertainty. “The First Order’s little stunt on Takodana has nettled Maz Kanata. The pirate queen has decided to lend _all_ her considerable talents to our cause; she’s lighting the beacons across the galaxy, as it were, reactivating her network. That is a _significant_ win, on a day marked with such harrowing loss. Our operatives abroad - those we can reach - will receive status updates and assignments complimentary to their current objectives; our goals remain the same, with or without the Republic’s support. And let’s not forget, without the New Republic, the First Order will not be the only terror organisation we have to contend with; there _will_ be those that take advantage of the vacuum of power in the wake of the Hosnian Cataclysm. We are here to serve as a reminder that the galaxy will not stand to be aggressed and enslaved by anyone. We know what we must do… May the Force be with you.”

The Resistance was like the _Millennium Falcon_ , Finn realised. It may be battle-worn and a little shabby, temperamental and a little patched together, but beyond appearances, she was capable of extraordinary feats.

Finn approached Han Solo, who was waiting for Chewie to finish conversing with a trio of armed Wookiees. “You sure about this, Solo? You know, odds are we won’t make it off that base.”

“Never tell me the odds,” Han told him. “C’mon, kid, we gotta get ready.”

Zsa Zsa appeared at Finn’s elbow, beaming. “I need to steal him first,” she said, linking her hand through Finn’s elbow, guiding him out of the command centre. “You can come too, General Solo.”

“I’m not - never mind,” Han said, sighing, and strode behind them as Zsa Zsa hustled down several corridors, into a laboratory that was in the process of being packed up. “Make it quick, kid, we’ve gotta get the _Falcon_ ready.”

“Time with me is not wasted, General,” Zsa Zsa chirped happily, reaching one console that hadn’t been touched, and Finn gazed at it, wary and entranced at the same time. It resembled the beads when they had melted into the miniature console. “These are shuri beads. Kyber crystal and nanotechnology. I invented them. Put this on.” The young girl reached for a set of thirteen beads, handing them to Finn as if offering him the most precious religious artefact. To her, a scientist and inventor, he supposed her own creations were probably even more sacred than religious artefacts. He put the beads on, where they felt light and cool against his skin, warming gently, but they were dull, not veined with vibrant light like hers, which shimmered as she held out her hand. As hers glowed, vibrant and mesmerising, the ones Finn wore seemed to come to life, glowing vividly violet-blue before fading, until only the etchings and glyphs were left subtly shimmering. Zsa Zsa tilted her head, making a thoughtful noise as she reached out, twisting his arm to better examine the beads. “Purple?”

“What’s purple?”

“The shuri beads are made from nanotechnology and kyber crystals. You have heard of Jedi lightsabers? Their hearts were made of kyber. Each lightsaber blade had a hue that reflected its heart, and each heart reflected its wielder. Every Jedi constructed their own lightsaber before their training was complete, and they found their kyber crystals through a rite of passage - the Gathering, held in the Crystal Caves of Ilum,” Zsa Zsa said, giving Han more history than he needed to hear, if his expression was anything to go by. “These shuri beads are now calibrated to _you_. The kyber in them is attuned to _you_. So the colour reflects you. They will transmit your vitals to my shuri console, so I can gather medical data. They can also transmit and record data or live-feeds, and we can use them to communicate across the galaxy. Watch…”

She pressed one of her own beads, and one on Finn’s bracelet started to flash, chirping melodically. Then the bead separated itself from the others, drifted into his palm, and, as with the projection of the planet, dissolved into a seam of sand, converging into the shape of a miniature, perfect Zsa Zsa, hovering over his palm, light projected from another of the beads, giving the image vibrant colour, the nanotechnology allowing for extraordinary detail. When the real Zsa Zsa laughed delightedly at the looks on their faces, her miniature laughed too - there was no echo, no delay.

“So when you reach Star-Killer Base, activate this bead and I will walk you through what I need in the control room to deactivate the shields,” Zsa Zsa said, the replica of her dissolving the bead reforming in Finn’s palm to roll back into place among the others. Han gaped, as Finn raised his eyebrows at the older pilot. “When you get into the control-room, attach _this_ bead to the main console: I will do the rest.”

“What if we’re captured? What if the First Order gets their hands on these?”

“They’re bio-hexacrypt, and any attempt to tamper with them initiates a self-destruct sequence - triggering that sends a message directly to my console, so I’ll know if one of you is compromised.”

“One of us? How many of these have you put out into the galaxy?”

“Not enough. Zeeva has been extraordinary in getting me funding but…I do not have unlimited resources because of…”

“We’re lucky you weren’t on the Hosnian System in one of their labs,” Han said, sincerely. “What else can they do, kid?”

“They act as stabilisers. If you’re seriously wounded. Just press the bead into the wound, and it will keep you stable long enough to get proper treatment,” Zsa Zsa said. “The kyber stabilises the body, while the nanotech analyses the damage - the beads send the data directly to my shuri console, and my sister’s.”

“Your sister?”

“Hatshepsut,” Zsa Zsa said, and Finn nodded; he’d thought they looked too alike not to be related. “She’s one of our best surgeons. The med-bay has a small shuri console connected to mine. If someone is hurt, the information goes directly to the med-bay and Galen and Hatshepsut’s shuri beads, so they can have everything prepared.”

“Do these things cook dinner, too?” Han asked, and Zsa Zsa grinned.

“No, but attach one of these to the console of the _Millennium Falcon_ , I can even fly it for you remotely,” she said.

“Don’t even think about it,” Han warned, and she grinned.

“Just go over which ones I need for communication, and to attach to the console,” Finn requested, and Zsa Zsa smiled indulgently, reaching out. She squeezed two of the beads, and they glowed vibrant violet.

“There. They will stay lit for you, until we can take the time to familiarise you with the tech,” she said kindly. “This one to call on me. This one, attach to the console.”

“Got it,” Finn nodded.

“Then, off you go,” Zsa Zsa said, perching on a stool in front of her console. “I have work to do.”

As they wandered back out into the corridor, finding their way to the star-port, Han muttered, “I suddenly feel like I was sent to go out and play by my mother.”

“I never expected there to be kids working with the Resistance,” Finn admitted.

“Well, Hatshepsut joined the Resistance when it was still in its infancy, and I guess she brought her sister along. They’re orphans,” Han said, sighing heavily, and they strode out into the sunlight. Everywhere, preparations were underway, not just for the mission but for the evacuation. If Finn had thought the Resistance base chaotic and haphazard, well, it was, but it was still a military base, and everything was packed up with speed and precision in mind.

He wondered how many times the Resistance had had to evacuate their base like this, flee across the galaxy, always keeping one step ahead of the First Order.

Han translated for him when Chewie gave him orders to help prep the _Falcon_. He was an infantryman, not a pilot or even a mechanic. Things like this came naturally to Rey after a lifetime of experience but this was utterly new to Finn.

He didn’t think about the odds of this mission. Of getting to Ilum without being shot out of the sky. Of the Resistance actually getting close enough, quickly enough, to blow the oscillator to hell and destroy Star-Killer Base before it could take out another star-system.

All he could worry about was how he was going to get to Rey. And how to get them both away from Star-Killer Base before the planet blew up - _if_ the Resistance managed it.

They would.

And he’d find Rey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about Rey’s learned skills, and thought she’d be more likely to fall back on those than a Jedi mind-trick she might’ve learned about through the connection with Kylo Ren. I think I’ve also made her a little wiser, more realistic in terms of, you know, escaping a giant planet-sized military base.
> 
> And I had so much fun writing about Zsa Zsa and her inventions. The beads will be very important, going forward. 
> 
> Also, I’ll be diverging from canon because, well, The Last Jedi’s timeline just makes my head hurt if I think about it too long - they had about sixteen hours’ worth of fuel left when they were caught by the First Order, yet Rey spends multiple days on Ahch-To with Luke, all while having a sequence of ForceTime calls with Kylo Ren, who is getting medical attention, being emotionally abused by Snoke, flying his TIE Silencer and not blowing up his mother on the bridge of the Raddus and also assassinating Snoke for his girlfriend, who then dumps him (those who slay together don’t always stay together) and takes his favourite toy… 
> 
> It - doesn’t - make - sense.


	11. Where there is Light, There is Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After watching ‘How Luke’s Jedi Order Differed from the Old Jedi Order [Legends] - Star Wars Explained’ by The Lore Master on YouTube, I’ve made some decisions regarding this fic’s version of Luke and his Jedi temple and what truly happened the night the temple burned and Ben fled. Because I dislike the characterisation of Luke. It’s an interesting video, and it is everything I’d want the new Jedi to be.
> 
> Does anyone want to have a discussion about whether or not Palpatine planted the nightmare of Padmé’s death in Anakin’s mind, after grooming him for years, to give him the final nudge toward the Dark Side? Because if Palpatine was every voice Ben/Kylo Ren had “ever heard inside his head,” as powerful as Ben was, it stands to reason that Palpatine also had enough power to do the same to Anakin. I think it’s hugely important that Anakin and Ben’s choices were ultimately their own, and therefore their actions, too, however they were both manipulated like puppets by Palpatine to get exactly what he wanted from them.
> 
> I’m confused by The Mandalorian. Bear with me: So I’ve seen other sources where Mandalorians very clearly do have their helmets off in front of others; and the argument is that there are some ‘extremist’ Mandalorians, for example our sweet cinnamon-roll Din, who never take their helmets off. So… I’m conflicted. As much as I love the mystique around Mando’s appearance, and love how he’s able to convey so much even through Beskar, it’s also a crime against nature to deprive us of the glorious face of Pedro Pascal. I also want to bring in at least one character who is Mandalorian, but isn’t strict about the helmet, for his own reasons. I’m wondering if people will be upset if I have Mandalorians showing their faces in this fic?
> 
> As The Mandalorian is set five years after The Return of the Jedi and Ben was born a year and three days after the Battle of Endor, then at the time Mando is hired to find The Child, Ben Solo is about four years old. If he’s twenty-nine (ten years older than Rey) in The Force Awakens then The Child is going to be seventy-five years old, while Mando is in his late-sixties, give or take. So it is possible that I CAN BRING BABY YODA INTO MY STORY! 
> 
> I really hope in the next season of The Mandalorian that The Child’s turned into a sweet little terror like Baby Groot in GotG2! Because - toddlers.
> 
> And, dammit, I want to see Ben Solo and Baby Yoda (now the equivalent of a four-year-old) having a little mental Force battle of wills. Like - like Newt Scamander and the Niffler. Mr Incredible and Jack-Jack. The Guardians and Baby Groot! Steve Harrington and any one of his kids! Can’t you just see him perching on Ben’s shoulder, stealing Han’s golden die? And, oh, Baby Yoda’s interactions with Zsa Zsa! We know how much he likes shiny things and pretty buttons. Sweet chaos! Well, now you know where this is going!

**I Am Yours, You Are Mine**

_11_

_Where there is Light, There is Hope_

* * *

“Leia…”

She glanced over her shoulder, unused to gazing up into her husband’s lined face. He looked more tired than he had the last time she saw him - sadder, as if he carried his grief with him at every moment, never letting himself forget.

Reluctance flickered across his face, and Leia understood her husband, even after all this time, to know he was uncomfortable bringing up whatever he wanted to talk about in high command, in front of everyone - even if they were bustling around packing up the command centre to set up on-board the _Raddus_.

“What’s going on, Han?” she asked gently, guiding him to a side-room that had recently been emptied of replacement tech.

“The girl…”

“BeeBee-Ate showed me the footage,” Leia sighed, examining her husband closely.

“He took her,” Han murmured, and grief and guilt weighed on him. She could feel it. “Our son _took_ her.”

Leia sighed, shaking her head. “She must be the first Force-sensitive person he’s met since…”

“What if he…what if he does to her what Snoke did to him?” Han asked uncomfortably. “He had us; she has no-one.”

“Snoke got to our son because he convinced Ben he _didn’t_ have us,” Leia said firmly. They had argued - bitterly - about what had happened at Luke’s temple, Han reluctant to send Ben away in the first place, embittered by the separation from his son, guilty about letting him believe he was alone…letting Ben believe he was feared, and dangerous, and unwanted… 

“And we both know…how easy it would have been to convince Ben we didn’t care,” Han said heavily, his face grim.

“We did the best we knew how,” Leia said gently, though she lay awake at night, thinking about how she had failed her only child, in prioritising the world she wanted to build for him, over helping shape the man he would become to inherit it. “We were so busy worrying about what he could be that we ignored who he was… I sent our little boy away.”

“And I let you. I should’ve put my foot down,” Han said, shaking his head. “Luke’s a Jedi, but I’m Ben’s father. I knew what was best for our son…”

“I just wanted him to be safe…to not be afraid of what he could do…” Leia said desperately. She used to think the destruction of Alderaan would forever be her greatest regret, because what could ever compare to such devastating loss? That was before their son was warped and manipulated to the Dark Side, because she hadn’t paid him the attention he so desperately yearned for - the guidance he had needed, to embrace every part of himself with fear and calm and acceptance and understanding, to stifle the voices Luke had told her had been whispering inside her son’s mind since childhood. She had prioritised the future they all could have over the present she should have had with him.

The awful irony was, she had now lost both. The son she had neglected; and the Republic she had neglected him for.

“If you see our son, Han…bring him home,” Leia said softly. “Bring our little boy home.”

“What could I do?” Han murmured, wide-eyed.

“As you said…you’re his father,” Leia smiled warmly, memories of their son’s childhood playing through her mind, sun-drenched, echoing with delicious young laughter. Ben. Named after the man who had been their only hope; and for the hope of building a better future after such devastation.

After Alderaan, she used to wonder whether her heart could ever be healed. Then she felt him fluttering in her belly, the first stirrings, pulses of light and shadow, beautifully balanced. Her heart had not only healed, but grown - so much hope, so much _love_ she could barely contain it. The first years of Ben’s life were the happiest of hers.

If she had the choice, now, in this moment, to recover Alderaan and all its people and those who perished in the Hosnian Cataclysm, or bring her son home…

She would drop everything for Ben.

Yet she knew she couldn’t. They had a hold on her son, and she had no idea how to break it. To break Snoke’s control over him. His actions were his own, she wasn’t blinded by a mother’s love: she knew the atrocities he had committed. But she also knew he was being played like a puppet by a master who would discard him when he became of no further value.

Snoke would destroy him.

All she could do, as Ben’s mother, was work her hardest to bring about the destruction of the people responsible for warping her son. Destroy the First Order; give her son the chance to free himself from the influence of the Dark.

Somehow - _somehow_ \- get through to Ben that he could still come back. That she - and Han - still _wanted_ him to come back. That they missed him. And loved him. More than anything.

“If we rescue the girl…” Han sighed, shaking his head. He never liked to hear the odds. She wondered if he’d prepared the young defector of the likelihood his friend might already be dead. “Maz told me Skywalker’s saber _called_ to Rey. I told her I’d get her to you, for training.”

“Training? _Han_ ,” Leia said warningly, frowning. “I’m no Jedi.”

“ _Exactly_. But you’ve trained everyone in this room, in some way,” Han said, glancing out the door at the command centre, quickly being packed up. “And you trained as a Jedi as an adult. You’re exactly the kind of teacher…”

“The teacher Ben should have had,” Leia said quietly, remembering all those scathing fights, years ago, when Luke had offered to take their son and train him, as he had been trained. Even back then, Han had been stubborn about it, resistant to the idea of sending their son away - and fierce in his belief that it was _Leia_ whom Ben should learn from.

“Yeah,” Han said grimly. He remembered their fights, too. “Leia, she…she’s alone. She has no-one, no family…” Han said sadly, and she knew he was thinking of their son, alone in the First Order, wielded like a weapon, abused for his power. “If she has any chance of surviving what she has it in her to become, she needs to learn from you. She needs _you_. Promise me you won’t send her away.”

Leia sighed heavily, eyeing her husband. They both knew it had been a mistake to send Ben away: After all these years, they could accept their fault in what had happened to their son. Han had been against the idea from the beginning; she listened to him, now, no matter what it might mean for her leadership of the Resistance.

“I won’t send her away,” she vowed, and Han nodded. He gathered her up into his arms, as he had so often before, and she melted against him, relishing her husband’s nearness for the first time in a decade. “I miss him,” she whispered hoarsely. “I want him home.”

She gazed up at Han, whose smile was heartbroken, his sad, tired hazel eyes gleaming. “I know.”

* * *

If it had been one hour or ten, she would have no idea, but when Rey woke, it was because something familiar sighed through her mind. A presence - no, not just _one_ …

 _Them_.

Finn, and Han Solo, and Chewbacca.

 _What in the galaxy are they doing here?_ she thought, panic the best remedy for sluggishness, and she almost tumbled from her makeshift perch. The hithline sashes held, and she scanned the floor: Then dropped neatly, reaching up to grasp the hithline, sent a mental command to the nanothreads, and gave the fabric a twitch. The knots that had held firm as she slept suddenly loosened, and she wrapped the hithline around her head and shoulders like a cowl, too preoccupied with sensing their nearness to go to the trouble of looping the sashes around her the way she liked.

Had they been captured?

 _No_ , she thought immediately. What she felt wasn’t dread, or fear. It was…determination. _Purpose_. From Han Solo, a little more trepidation, grief mingled with solace, a flicker of memory, a dark-eyed older woman with braids coiled around her head embracing him; Finn, righteous anger, resolve; from Chewbacca, a desire to protect.

She tracked them. Through the Force, and through the walls. She let the Light pull her to them, guiding her, and when she heard plasma blasts, well…that confirmed it. They were here. And no-one had expected them to be. She followed the sound of droids to a service entrance into a main intersection of corridors, and carefully poked her head out of the door, checking up and down the corridor. Several of the doors were sealed off; Stormtroopers lay sprawled on the floor, their armour smouldering.

Chewie was rumbling while Han Solo argued with Finn, who had his back to her.

When his eyes drifted past Finn’s shoulder to Rey, standing in the doorway gaping at them in disbelief, Han’s face creased into a wide smile full of amusement and nostalgia, his soft hazel eyes glittering with memories.

Finn turned, and gaped.

“They’re conducting interrogations in the service corridor nowadays?”

“No, sabotage.”

Han grinned. “You okay?” he asked, his smile softening to something gentle, concerned.

Rey nodded. “So far,” she said softly, wondering whether she hadn’t lost her mind in that interrogation chamber after all, her escape an elaborate coping mechanism for the pain? “What are you _doing_ here?”

“We came for you,” Finn said, blinking at her as if just as confused by her presence as she was by his. Chewie rumbled, and Rey turned to stare at her friend. “What’d he say?”

“That…it was your idea to rescue me,” she said softly, gazing at Finn. She had never had a friend before. Now she knew with absolute certainty that she had Finn’s friendship for life; and he had hers.

A few days ago, Rey’s death would have gone unnoticed.

Finn had risked _everything_ just to help her.

He was the most unselfish person she had ever met.

What could she do or say to convey the depth of her…was _gratitude_ even a strong enough word for it? Awe, a beautiful sort of grief, that he had put himself in danger for her, tenderness. Love. Her friend Finn had come to rescue her…

She’d never had a friend.

“Thank you,” she gasped, her eyes burning. She dived in for a hug, something she had seen young children reach to their mothers for in Tuanul and Niima Outpost: Finn hugged her back fiercely, almost lifting her off the floor.

“C’mon, kids, we’ve got work to do,” Han muttered, but he was gazing appreciatively at Rey as they separated. Chewie growled something, and Han chuckled. “Yeah…yeah, she reminds me of when we first met Leia, too. You ready to take over your own rescue, Rey?”

“Whatever you need me to do,” Rey said, blinking at Han. “Why… What’s happening?”

“The First Order’s charging up the weapon, they’re gonna fire at the Ileenium System, they know that a Resistance base is there,” Finn said hurriedly, as Chewie kept his blaster aimed at one of the doors, Han at the door the other end of the corridor. A team. “But the Resistance is on their way. We need to give them access so they can destroy the oscillator. We need to lower the shields.”

Chewie rumbled softly.

“Yeah, you can tell us how you got out while we’re moving,” Han said, scooping up a bulky blaster and handing it to Rey, who looped it over her head as she kept pace with Finn, who had turned focused and intense, now that he had gotten over his shock at seeing her.

“They had me in an interrogation chamber. I deactivated the control panel for an interrogation-chair for maintenance - it slid back into the service corridor. I’ve been hiding in the walls, wreaking havoc with the wiring for hours,” she told them, omitting the part where she had taken a nap. That she hadn’t been discovered and thrown into a black cell was astonishing, but she supposed that only served to highlight the hubris of the First Order.

“In here,” Finn told them, pressing himself against the wall beside wide double-doors, peeking around. “There’ll be a couple troopers inside, standing guard, no technicians. Standard regulation armour and weapons.”

“Alright, let’s get on with it,” Han sighed, checking the corridors, and Finn pressed the control panel to open the doors. They slid open, and he and Han were ready, shooting off plasma blasts before the Stormtroopers inside the control-room could react. They slipped inside the sleek chamber, met with a bank of processors and flickering screens. As Han pressed the control for the doors, Finn approached the console.

“What’re those?” Rey asked curiously, as he plucked a bead off a bracelet on his wrist, eyed it uncertainly, and pressed it against the console.

“Shuri beads,” Finn told her. “Long story.” He pressed another one of the beads, glowing like the one on the console, chirping musically for a few seconds and glowing vibrant violet and, for a few heartbeats, blinding gold, and Rey’s jaw dropped as a young girl’s face and upper torso appeared. One of the beads had literally melted above the palm of Finn’s hand into sand and reformed into a tiny, vibrant miniature of a Zabrak girl with beautiful braids and vivid violet eyes.

“You did it!” the girl grinned.

“Is the shuri bead in the right place?” Finn asked urgently.

“Absolutely - I’m already working on getting in. Ooh, their bio-hexacrypt is _excruciatingly_ gorgeous!” the girl cried, grinning, the hologram - if _art_ like this could be classified as a hologram - following her movements. Rey noticed that the half of the hologram facing them was vibrantly coloured from light shining from another one of the beads, while the back of the hologram was dark, blue-grey, undulating as if it was alive, reminding her of a sidewinder snake burying itself beneath the sand as it rippled and shivered. “Huh… That’s interesting. Someone…has rendered the security protocols to override a breach neutralised. And...they’ve created a closed-circuit, preventing any information except standard status updates from being transmitted to high command.”

“That was me,” Rey said, glancing at Finn and Han, who looked nonplussed. The girl in the hologram turned to look at her, startling her. She looked… _so_ _young_.

“Is this Rey? You found her! Good, someone who knows what they are doing!” the girl laughed playfully, her accent lyrical, her tone playful, jubilant. “Although it does take the fun out of the challenge. Oh well! The First Order won’t even know the shields are down until our pilots start raining fire on them.”

“How long, kid?”

“Five…four…three…two…one,” said the girl, beaming from ear to ear. “Child’s play. The shields are down!” Rey got the impression she was calling out for someone else’s benefit. She turned her violet eyes to Finn. “Now, _get_ _out of there_.”

The girl disappeared, the bead reforming in Finn’s palm to nestle itself between the others around his wrist, and he picked the other up from where it had formed a little dome on the console: It flickered once with veins of purple fire, and joined the others on his wrist.

“Those are _amazing_ ,” Rey breathed, and Finn reached out, startling her, to turn off the safety on her blaster. “Oh. I think I need some lessons.”

“You’ll get ‘em, one way or another,” Han said, jerking his head to the doors. “We gotta go, kids. Back to the _Falcon_.”

“Hang on - we _just_ disabled the shields…how did you even get in?” Rey asked, observing the way Finn held his gun ready and copying what he did, as they made their way out of the console-chamber and down a corridor.

“Came in at light-speed,” Han said.

“ _You_ \- ?!” Rey blurted, her eyes widening.

“Yeah,” Finn nodded, stifling a shudder. “I’ve had smoother landings.”

“Got the job done, didn’t I?” Han asked, and he crept to the end of the wall, peeking around the corner, blaster at the ready. He gestured to them that it was safe, and they followed. Rey exchanged a stunned look with Finn: They had landed at light-speed?! How were they all in one piece? How was the _Falcon_ in one piece?

“How’re we getting out?” Rey breathed.

“Access tunnel,” Finn replied, and Rey nodded. It was all a little overwhelming; she chose not to think too hard on anything that had happened recently, and just put one foot in front of the other. As long as she did that, she might actually have the luxury of time to painstakingly pick apart everything that had occurred since she had freed BB-8 from the Teedo’s net.

They hurried into a transport compartment, Finn punching several buttons, and they waited with baited breath as the compartment descended. With their guns held ready, anticipating any ambush, the elevator doors slid open, and biting, glacial winds roared down a dank passage. Finn’s access tunnel, made of stone and unfinished steel. The unpolished underbelly of the Base. Water pooled everywhere under foot, startling Rey, as they followed Finn, who led the way through the tunnel. It got colder and colder as they ran, and the water gave way to ice she skidded on several times, and then…

* * *

The sleek _Upsilon_ command-shuttle descended to the snow, loading ramp hissing softly, and he was glad of his thick clothing and helmet as the biting cold greeted him, snatching at his cloak, pushing his cowl down around his shoulders as he strode out into the gloom. The planet’s remaining sun was being drained, energy siphoned into the kyber containment units deep in the heart of the planet. The next target, the Ileenium System. The home of the Resistance base. In moments, the Resistance would be snuffed out.

All but Han Solo.

He had sensed his father’s presence as a subordinate officer had relayed a report on the continued failure of their men to find one lone scavenger. Sensors had been triggered all across the base, one here, three there, an incomprehensible sequence of diversions and fires to put out.

And she had closed herself off from him. He had tried to reach her; she had told him, _No_ , and slammed some kind of invisible wall between them.

But she couldn’t sever the bond between them. He still _felt_ her, inside his mind, a part of himself.

He was too wary of delving along that excruciatingly beautiful coil of molten gold and starlight, shadows and sunlight, no matter how beguiling it was: she had gotten inside his head. And something twisted in his stomach, anxious and shameful at what she might have found there. His head still throbbed from what she had done - liberating his memories of the night the temple burned, and he had spent hours turning it over, the details, the differences…remembering how it felt to have molten lava poured into his mind, cooling and solidifying while someone toyed with the insides, reshaping them, searing them into submission, warping them with infection… She had enveloped his memories with her light, and shattered the abrasive casings protecting the malignance, leaving them utterly raw - vulnerable to the light, letting him _breathe_ for the first time in years, as light literally was shed on his mind, his memories. Not all of them, but enough that he questioned all the others.

How much of his mind was truly his own?

It was a jarring thought, one he was desperate to ignore. It would make him question _everything_.

The cold was cleansing, as he strode through the snow, determined to outpace the thoughts her presence in his mind had dredged up. Thoughts that had him questioning everything - thoughts that were dangerous. If the Supreme Leader…

He clenched his fists tighter, approaching the battered, half-buried disc of the _Millennium Falcon_ , rising from out of the snow like an eerie monument, as if the wind and storms had unearthed a forgotten relic. The landing had not been precise, that much was evident. He realised the compromised shields could be attributed to Han Solo, though he had suspected Rey had had something to do with it - she had been wreaking havoc all over the base, setting off perimeter alerts to distract and deflect. She was…quite something.

He had also sensed FN-2187. He had brought Han Solo to Star-Killer Base. Likely, he had fed the Resistance all the information they needed to launch an attack in retaliation for the Hosnian System… At first opportunity, he had betrayed the First Order…

Ren’s eyes raked every inch of the vessel, and he strode up the loading-ramp, into the freighter that felt so familiar, he went dizzy for a heartbeat, overwhelmed by memories, by emotion. Striding through the freighter…he remembered it much bigger. He searched for…he didn’t know. _Something_. Something he remembered. Something familiar.

In the deserted cockpit, he froze. It wasn’t the golden die, dangling overhead. The ones his father used to give him to play with, sat in his lap while they went for casual flights between paradise planets, forcing his mother to take a few hours to enjoy sunshine and picnics with them and forget about politics…

It was the chess-pieces. _His_ chess-pieces.

Chewbacca had gifted them to him when he was a boy.

He remembered stuffing them into the vent, his hiding-place when he had attempted to stow away with his dad. He had been discovered, but the chess pieces hadn’t.

Now, they were welded to the console, right in front of the pilot’s seat.

His father would have to look at them every time he gazed out across the galaxy.

He sank into the pilot’s seat, staring at the chess pieces he had lost. But here they were…recovered, but not just stuffed into a box somewhere out of sight; they had been permanently welded to the console - a constant reminder.

For a moment, he couldn’t catch his breath, overwhelmed. He wasn’t sure what it was he was feeling, but it gripped his entire being.

A thunderous roar interrupted his inner tumult, squadrons of _X-wings_ screaming out of the sky, roaring directly towards Precinct Forty-Seven - the bulk of the containment field and oscillation control system. The Resistance fighters dropped toward the massive hexagonal structure…and began their bombing runs.

As he strode through the corridors of the _Falcon_ , something made him pause. He turned to the secondary cabin, the one he used to sleep in as a boy, with the bunkbeds built long enough for Chewie. He had always slept in the top-bunk, and he opened the door, to peer curiously inside.

Light illuminated a grubby, patched taupe satchel leaning in the far corner…and a quarterstaff.

His breath hitched. He stepped into the room, and reached for the staff.

It was exactly as he remembered it, except for the wrappings in the centre, made of battered leather and reclaimed flight-suits.

She had kept it.

Outrunning TIE Starfighters on foot in Niima Outpost, flinging herself into the cockpit of the stolen _Falcon_ …she had clung on to it. Carried it with her. As if it was…precious.

How many years had it been since he had found himself in the sand, teaching that tiny girl how to safely make a fist, unconscious aliens scattered around them?

More than a decade.

And yet…here it was. His quarterstaff, lost all those years ago… _Not lost_ , he thought, as he set the staff back in its place, leaning against the wall. He had passed it on to someone who needed it far more than he had.

He strode out of the Falcon, unnerved. A trooper saluted him at the foot of the loading-ramp. “Resistance fighters, sir. Targeting the oscillation control system. All squadrons have been mobilised.”

Ren reached out, searching for them.

Han Solo. Chewbacca. FN-2187…the scavenger.

* * *

“What’s this?” she breathed in quiet awe, as Finn punched a panel and the reinforced external doors hissed open, blinding white and cold overwhelming her senses, something soft and pale whirling in the air in a violent wind, chasing goose-bumps over her exposed flesh, forcing her to shiver for warmth, her breath clouding in front of her as she panted.

“Snow,” Finn said, giving her a strange look, as they ran out into the elements. Glancing around, Rey saw they were utterly exposed: Nothing but white all around them, broken up by craggy rocks, and above them, a miserable dark-grey sky swirling with angry clouds. Her lips parted, watching a sun diminish before her eyes, its power drawn to the surface of the planet…the weapon. More _snow_ swirled around her, and every step was laborious as her feet sank into more of it. Like running through sand.

The temperature usually dropped at night, out in the desert. Rey was used to that. But there was a difference between the dry cool of a desert night, and _this_. This damp, relentless _cold_ that made her bones ache. She adjusted her cowl to cover her face, as snow stung and wind whipped at her skin, adjusting her blaster over her back so she had the benefit of her arms to balance as she picked her way through the snow - then decided to follow the huge tracks made by Chewie as he lumbered through the snow. The distant sound of explosions made the Wookiee rumble, and they drew up short, watching as fighters dive-bombed a huge building that rose up in front of them out of the snow. A volley of bombs went off as another fighter swooped, flowering with fiery energy on impact, but _TIE Fighters_ had been despatched, and whatever advantage they had given the Resistance fighters by lowering the shields without the First Order’s notice, the TIE Fighters were quickly pressing the advantage of superior numbers. They were picking the Resistance ships out of the sky.

An X-wing choking with smoke, already on fire, torpedoed into the snow, exploding in a shower of smoke, snow and rubble that shot higher than the building looming beside it.

“They’re in trouble,” Han remarked, glancing over his shoulder at Finn and Rey, as they watched the battle unfolding with unease - Rey was no expert, but even she could tell the inevitable odds. “We can’t leave…”

“They’re still charging the weapon,” Finn panted, squinting upwards. “While they’re still charging, our fighters have still got a chance.”

 _Where there is Light, there is hope_ , Rey thought, following Finn’s gaze. As they ran through the access tunnel, they had filled her in on what the Resistance’s plan.

“My friend’s got a bag full of explosives,” Han said thoughtfully, and Chewie rumbled. “Let’s use ‘em.”

“The oscillator,” Finn said. “Zsa Zsa’s simulation, remember - we compromise the oscillator, with all that energy they’ve drawn from the sun, this planet’ll self-destruct. But there’s no way to get inside.”

“There’s always a way,” Rey said gently, analysing the towering structure before them, as the aerial battle waged on overhead. “I grew up inside the walls of Imperial _Destroyers_ , taking things apart. You get me to a conventional junction station, I’ll get you in.”

“Get us in,” Han nodded, already striding toward the building, but his face had lingered on Rey’s just long enough to show warmth and respect radiating from a soft smile that said he would never be surprised by how capable she was. “We’ll be ready.”

The sky continued to darken as the sun was drained of energy; in the gloom, the number of strikes against the building was decreasing markedly. They ran toward the building, ignored by the Fighters on either side, too small - too inconsequential.

The freezing cold burned her lungs, even though she was sweating with exertion as she ran to keep up with the two men and the Wookiee, who was faster than he looked. Snow blinded them, the wind tore at her bare skin, burning, and she felt frozen - worse, she felt _damp_.

“Is snow always like this?” she called to Finn, her teeth chattering violently. “It’s horrible!”

“Try living here!” Finn shouted back, as they ran. All his training as a trooper came in handy; she kept up easily, used to uneven footing - it was Han who brought up the rear, the Wookiee loping beside him loyally. “There’s only two kinds of weather. _Snowstorms_ , and _light_ snowstorms with winter sun that’s even worse, ‘cos it feels like the sun’s mocking you.”

They split up: Han and Chewie waited by a wide, heavy-duty service hatch, seizing the opportunity when the door slid open to admit three Troopers. With their unerring aim, Chewie and Han despatched the soldiers, and stole inside the building, pistols and bowcasters raised, ready.

Rey and Finn ran across the snowy ground, Rey leading the way, to an insignificant black structure. It didn’t look like much; but that was the point. Best not to draw attention to a critical piece of the mechanism. Even with her gloves on, Rey’s fingers were frozen, trembling badly, and stiff; but she unzipped her utility pouch and grabbed her tools, scrutinising the maintenance panel before getting to work. Again, she marvelled at the laziness of the engineers, reusing old designs for the First Order’s base.

She supposed no-one had ever dreamed a scavenger would ever be set loose on their base to unpick everything, as she had spent a lifetime teaching herself how. Deftly, she disconnected parts, disassembling the components, redirecting the wiring.

“I’d get at least three portions for all this,” she remarked distractedly, tucking pieces of tech into her pouch on instinct.

“Huh?” Finn frowned, shivering beside her. While she worked, hunched and shuddering with cold, his dark eyes were shrewd, scanning their environment for approaching threats, his training shining through - he was now using the First Order’s rigid training to protect someone helping to _undo_ the First Order. And that was such delicious irony.

She nodded at Finn, shut the hatch, and they made their way toward the huge building. To provide cover for Han and Chewie as they planted explosives to crack the oscillator wide open from the inside and give their fighters a chance to inflict the real damage. Though the munitions Chewie had carried had far more destructive capacity than their diminutive size suggested, they needed the firepower of the fighters to trigger a true fracturing of the oscillator.

“Up here!” Poe called, leading the way to a narrow ladder embedded into the side of the building, a covered external service ladder that led directly to controls systems in the higher levels, in case the internal structures were compromised. Rey was lucky she wasn’t at all affected by heights, and spent the greater part of her days scaling sheer walls and avoiding plummeting falls. And, oh, was she ever appreciative now that she had grown up in the desert.

Snow sucked festering Rathtar tentacles.

She ascended the ladder first, used to the dark and the confined space; she was so fast, she barely used her feet to touch each rung of the ladder - years of experience had taught her never to entirely trust seemingly stable metal supports. In the desert, it had taken decades for things to rust; here, the air was dank with the smell of it, and the ladder groaned even under her diminutive weight, with Finn struggling a little more behind her.

It was a _long_ way to climb up, but she was used to scaling _Destroyers_ and scavenge around with enough time left to get to Niima Outpost and trade for her dinner before dark. When she reached the top, she checked for troopers then climbed out, to a wide bay exposed to the elements, a maintenance hatch beside wide, reinforced doors. By the time Finn had joined her, panting, adjusting his blaster in his grip, she was finishing up with the last of the reconnections, tucking useful pieces of tech and mechanical parts into her pouch for later, out of habit and instinct, and glanced at Finn, nodded.

“Get ready - here we go…” She connected the last cables. The service doors slid open with a reluctant hiss, and the natural gloom outside mingled with the architectural gloom inside, an echoing, empty space soaring high above, broken up by a haze of red and blue lights, and disappearing far below, illuminated by vibrant white light, a walkway intersecting light and dark, teetering precariously over open, unending space. It was daunting, orderly and perfectly mechanised to run itself, components humming smoothly, unidentifiable sounds temporarily breaking the silence.

The quiet inside seemed painfully loud, somehow. No hint of the continued barrage from the Resistance fighters seemed to find its way through the impenetrable structure, any noise of the aerial battle seeping inside over Rey’s shoulder through the open doors as Finn scouted their path ahead. She ducked instinctively as a _TIE_ _Fighter_ screamed overhead, but it was a long way above her; she shifted the weight of her blaster in her hands, getting comfortable with the grip - not that she would ever be truly comfortable wielding a blaster - and followed Finn, covering him while he ducked into the building.

As they scanned the building - easily picking out the troopers in their spotless white armour, their movements precise - a shout echoed in the chasm below, “ _BEN_!”

Rey cast her gaze around, until she saw…far below, two figures, one in the centre of the bridge, a slash of even greater darkness in the gloom, the other, his steel-grey hair shining in the ambient lighting, approaching the bridge. Rey exchanged a glance with Finn, and they both held their blasters, primed and ready: the troopers scattered around the complex, searching for them, raised their weapons in readiness.

At the sound of Han’s voice, the tall, broad-shouldered man swathed in black paused halfway across the bridge, light reflecting in a dull sheen on the helmet he wore.

The sound echoed through the cavernous, daunting building, eerie - spine-tingling. High above, a shiver stole through Rey that had nothing to do with the cold, and…everything to do with _him_. His reaction, to the sound of his name - to the familiarity of his father’s presence.

Below, Han approached the bridge, slowly, as if he was approaching a wounded Wookiee.

The tall man turned, his long overcoat whipping in the artificial wind cooling the entire system. Light gleamed off the eerie brow of his mask, and the voice that filtered through it was alien to Han, muffled, deeper…emotionless. “ _Han Solo._ ” His fists were clenched, the sound of the leather being squeezed oddly loud in the silent chamber. “ _I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time_.”

Even the way he spoke sounded different, Han thought. Deceptively calm, measured - as if he was consciously trying not to betray any emotion.

Taking the first step onto the bridge was the hardest thing Han had done in a long time. His wife’s single request whispered through his mind, and he did it. Started walking slowly along the bridge, toward the man who had once been proud to be his son. Ben.

It had been ten years since that awful night, all those…all those people had died, some of them young children. And Ben had fled, leaving Luke bewildered, distraught, and utterly defeated. Ten years, since Han had seen his son. He didn’t even recognise the build of the person before him, so _tall_ , with broad shoulders and a thick torso. His son had been a laughably gangly, awkward kid with large ears and the sweetest, shyest demeanour, delighted to find himself liked and desperate to love, and be loved, haunted by harrowing nightmares, shy about the girls at the temple and uncertain about his place in the galaxy, the burden of such a heavy legacy his alone to bear as the only child of Han Solo and Princess Leia Organa, nephew and padawan to Luke Skywalker, the Jedi and the legend.

Grandson to Darth Vader, though Luke had always tried to stress that Vader was only one _aspect_ of the man who had once been known, and celebrated, as Anakin Skywalker.

Gazing at this man in a mask, Han was reminded of Cloud City. He’d shot without hesitation the moment Lando had opened those doors, the unmistakable figure of Darth Vader rising from a sleek dining-table already laid out with a beautiful meal.

Han got a very different feeling now, staring at this man in his mask. His son.

Pain-riddled nostalgia, for the boy he remembered, grief, for all he had suffered, shame, for his own part in perpetuating Ben’s belief he was feared and unwanted, and yearning, for the man he knew his son had it in him to be, if he chose to free himself of Snoke’s influence.

 _Those who fall to the Dark are also capable of choosing to return to the Light_ , Luke had insisted, when first Ben had run, and whispers had started to be heard across the galaxy of a dark young man of incomprehensible gifts doing Snoke’s bidding.

This being swathed in darkness wasn’t Han’s son.

“Take off that mask,” he said firmly. His voice echoed around them. “You don’t need it.”

“What do you think you’ll see if I do?” said the other man, his voice soft, calm. Almost taunting. Han didn’t recognise his voice.

“The face of my son!” Han said. Ten years. A decade, since last he’d seen his only son. His little boy. Snoke had stolen a decade from them - a third of their son’s life; a third of his marriage to Leia. He wanted it all back. He wanted Ben to come home; _he_ wanted to go home to Leia.

This was all she had ever asked of him in ten years.

And he was desperate to see his son’s face.

Han stepped forward.

The man reached up. His helmet hissed, as he removed it.

Han stopped, gasping softly, pain lancing through his chest.

His son. The first time he had ever seen the face of his son as a man.

Ben had grown into the looks unkind children used to tease him about. His large lips, his long nose. Leia’s big dark eyes, his own long, sombre face, lots of thick, dark hair waving almost to his shoulders with effortless grace. Lush lips, Han’s long nose, and an expression devoid of any emotion. Thousands of lights reflected off those dark eyes - Leia’s eyes - with a hint of defiance, a hint of…yearning.

Han gazed at him, awed. Ben finally fit his face. Even as a boy, he had been shy, withdrawn, sensitive - sombre, his long face far too solemn for such a young person. Now… He looked as if this was how he was always supposed to have looked. He was so handsome. For a second, it was important to Han that he tell Leia that. Not because he looked so like Han it hurt; but because their son…was a man now. He had grown up. And that broke his heart more than anything.

Ten years had felt like nothing, sometimes. Other times, it had felt like an eternity. Gazing at Ben…it felt like both, at once. It felt like an age ago he had been cuddling with Ben in the pilot’s seat of the _Falcon_ , laughing as his son chewed on the golden die to soothe his aching gums, and yet…it was only yesterday Ben had come running over to him, gangly and skinny-limbed, half his teeth missing, big ears glowing in the sunlight, eager to drag him over to the speeder Chewie was helping him build.

Han couldn’t actually remember exactly the last time he had seen his son: everything that came after was too painful to consider what he might have said or done differently that could’ve affected the outcome, what had come after... But he remembered his son. The boy he had been, the young man he had shown such promise of becoming - enduringly kind, in spite of his frustrations, compassionate, shy, gentle, awkward and attractive.

Han swallowed, with effort, and forced himself to keep walking, always slowly, toward his son.

“Your son is gone,” Ben said defiantly, only a hint of a tremor in his voice. His voice sounded softer, younger, without the mask - as if the mask helped him assume a role he was supposed to play. “He was weak and foolish - like his father - so I destroyed him.”

“That’s what Snoke wants you to believe. But it’s not true,” Han told him calmly. “My son is alive.”

“No,” Ben said, a muscle flickering in his jaw. “The Supreme Leader is wise.”

Han gazed at his son, in agony, considering the worst Snoke could possibly have done to manipulate and control Ben, to the point where Kylo Ren had come into existence. How much pain had Ben withstood, before it all became too much…and he put on the mask. How deep was Ben buried beneath this persona of Kylo Ren, beneath all the torment Snoke had inflicted to warp a gentle young man into a war-criminal.

“Snoke is using you for your power,” Han said gently. He knew his son. He would flinch and recoil into himself if Han yelled, no matter if he was desperate to berate him, give him a clip round the ear and drag him to the _Falcon_ so his mother could set him right. “When he gets what he wants, he’ll crush you.” There was a tiny flicker - only subtle, something only a _father_ would notice in his son’s eyes, but it was there. Doubt, however unconscious, however easily stifled by whatever poison Snoke had filled his head with - it was there. As he approached, barely five paces apart, Ben yielded a step back, just the one. But to Han, he might as well have shot him in the heart with Chewie’s blaster. He was afraid what Han might say, to shake Snoke’s control…which meant he feared Snoke, even if he would never admit it, and he feared him so much, he would deny everything Han said against him. He was afraid to leave Snoke…afraid of what he would _do_ to Ben if he tried.

Ben lowered his eyes, gazing uncertainly through his lashes up at Han - reminding Han so vividly of Ben as a small child caught in some good-natured naughtiness with the Andor boy, it made him dizzy, those big, apologetic dark eyes, and pouting, uncertain lips. Han sighed, gazing sorrowfully at his son, for the boy he had been, and the years Snoke had stolen from them all. Gently, compassionately, he said, “You know it’s true.”

Ben’s lush lips trembled, his voice breaking softly as he whispered, “It’s too late.” Those big dark eyes glittered, overwhelmed and uncertain - afraid, conflicted, _yearning_ , gazing at Han the way every father wanted to be looked at by his son when he was in trouble; as if he was the only person in the world who could help, could fix things.

Shaking his head with quiet urgency, Han stepped forward, “No, it’s not. It’s never too late, you hear me?” he said, with soft sternness.

“The things I’ve done…” His lip trembled, and Han sighed softly.

“We’ve all done things we regret,” Han said carefully. “Kid, we’re not defined by our single worst act… Leave here with me, right now. We miss you…your mother misses you. She wanted me to tell you…she misses you…she loves you. _We_ love you.” When he spoke next, his voice came out as a whisper, a heartbroken plea, “ _Come home_.”

He saw the conflict in his son’s eyes, glittering, tears pooling in his eyes, and Han saw it. Pain, desire, yearning, shame of what he had done, embarrassment, fear of the wrath of the master who had abused him for so long, hopelessness, anger, grief. His face appeared calm, but it was those eyes…Leia’s eyes…swirling with pain and torment, swimming with unshed tears, his clenched hands shaking at his sides as he fought the instinct to run to his father when he was in pain, when he was afraid, as he always had as a boy.

His lips quivered, and Ben’s voice broke as he said, “I’m being torn apart.” His whole face trembled with suppressed emotion as he exclaimed, “I want to be free of this pain.” He gazed down at Han - when had he grown so tall? So _big_? - and terror and pain and grief and yearning flickered across his face, the mask he wore even without the helmet cracking, letting his vulnerable son flicker beneath the surface, desperate, yearning. “I know what I have to do, but I don’t know if I have the strength to do it.” His lip trembled again, seeming to calm himself. He sounded so young, so frightened - so much like Han’s son, so like little Ben, when he asked, “Will you help me?”

“Yes,” Han said fervently, without hesitation, stepping closer to his son, and in the back of his mind, he thought it laughable how huge his little boy now was. But still, with those eyes… “ _Anything_.”

Ben looked tired, relieved…the expression on his face was exquisitely cathartic as he dropped the helmet. It landed with a clang that echoed through the chamber, and his belt clinked as he unclipped the lightsaber hanging from the wide belt around his middle.

He offered it to Han with a gloved hand, and for a second, Han’s mind flashed to his tiny little boy, his first milk-teeth gleaming, chattering incomprehensibly, as he offered Han the little toy _Millennium Falcon_ they were playing with in the nursery, sprawled on the floor, playing _Battle of Endor_ with the miniature toys the New Republic had gifted to their infant son in celebration of his birth. His tiny fingers were chubby, dimpled deliciously, and his thick dark hair stuck out at all angles from his nap. His dark eyes shimmered with delight, grinning at Han, as he leaned in to give his dad a sloppy kiss.

Han reached out, closing his fingers around the hilt of the bulky weapon, sadly smiling at his son. He could hear Ben panting for breath, and Han frowned to himself as the chamber grew dim, washing his son’s handsome face with crimson light and eerie shadows, his eyes glinting as he resisted Han’s hold on the lightsaber. His lip trembled, his face paled, and his breath became ragged, shallow, and tears slipped down his cheeks as Han watched the struggle in his eyes. Ben gasped as he ignited the lightsaber.

A vicious crimson blade of pure energy lanced through Han’s abdomen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	12. Compromised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think haters choose to ignore that Ren had been hit by Chewie’s bowcaster before he picked the fight with Rey - whom he never wanted to kill in the first place, only to turn (which is significant; he was indulging her anger when she attacked, like he taunted Finn, until he realised they were actually significant threats). And I can understand that people are miffed that in Rise of Skywalker, this tiny girl was going toe-to-toe with the towering sequoia that is Adam Driver (whom we’d all climb) seemingly with newfound magical skills.
> 
> All I’ll say is this: If they’d given Rey the Arya Stark Faceless Man training montage, it would’ve been perfectly logical that Rey could hold her own. People would’ve been impressed, not disbelieving. Because who didn’t love Arya training with Ser Brienne? And Rey’s a survivor: People consistently underestimate her, which is an advantage she learns to wield just like any other weapon. Ren relies on brute strength and the Force; Rey’s light on her feet, fast, she’s adaptable, and has a creative, problem-solving mind honed through years of scavenging.
> 
> So if anyone’s read The Vampire Academy series (which I would recommend for YA readers who want an exquisitely well-written vampire series), I always loved how very visceral and real the consequences of Rose and Lissa’s bond was for Rose, in how siphoning the bad stuff from Lissa had to have an outlet through Rose, causing a lot of issues with Rose’s temper that had knock-on effects on her personal relationships. I think that would’ve been an interesting take on the dyad bond - that each of them can draw the ‘Dark’ from the other to help them see clearly, but it has a side-effect. So I’ll be exploring that, especially with Rey. I like to think, if she can feel Ren’s emotions, perhaps she can influence them.

**I Am Yours, You Are Mine**

_12_

_Compromised_

* * *

“ _NO_!” Rey fell to her knees, hard enough to draw blood on the grating, gasping for breath, gripping the railing in front of her as tears burned her eyes, streaking down her face. She _felt_ it…she felt Han’s pain, his sadness, and his acceptance. His forgiveness.

Han reached up, the light in him dimming, to cradle his son’s face in his hand one last time.

Han crumpled, and fell, and Rey gasped, sobbing, filled with pain such as she had never known, spearing through her heart, burning it from the inside out in an explosion of fire that scorched and destroyed everything it encountered, leaving nothing but raw grief and shock in its wake. She reached out with her feelings, choking on the nausea roiling in her stomach, dry-heaving, even as Finn shot off blasts, covering her, and Chewbacca roared.

When Chewie shot Kylo Ren with his bowcaster, she _felt_ it. It almost broke her concentration, thoroughly winding her.

Finn had seen the Wookiee’s handcrafted weapon fling grown armoured men twenty feet on impact in a shower of fiery sparks, trailing smoke.

The blast hit Kylo Ren in the abdomen, and as he fell to his knees, his huge body buckling, Rey moaned beside Finn, her slender fingers fluttering to her stomach, sucking in a breath, her face streaming with tears, deathly pale.

That’s when everything exploded.

Chewie had detonated the bombs he and Han had planted. One after the other, the explosions far too big for the little bombs Finn had packed back at the base. Punching holes in the soaring walls full of processors and computers. So loud, it hurt his head, and for a second, Finn gazed up, at the hole punched through the ceiling, fire rising into the darkened sky.

They had to get out of here.

Kylo Ren pushed to his feet.

Raised his head, as the building blossomed with fire. His gaze locked onto Rey, her face shining with tears.

Pure, white-hot rage coursed through her, hate, despair - Rey let it consume her, and screamed with rage, shoving her hand through the air, as if she could strike him down from here - blue-white energy crackled from her fingertips, spearing through the air, and Kylo Ren’s eyes widened a heartbeat before the lightning struck him.

Rey gasped, recoiling in horror, staring at her fingertips, energy sparking between them, tears dropping to her cheeks, barely registering Kylo Ren, wielding the Force to pull himself back to the bridge, where impact with the lightning had flung him over the side…

She panted for breath, horrified, confused and frightened, and collapsed, feeling empty.

“ _Rey_?” Finn breathed, crouching, as several plasma blasts missed them by a good few feet, troopers recovering even as the building exploded all around them. Finn had never seen anyone in so much pain. Her tiny, slender body seemed to be curling in on itself as a protective reflex. He gasped, horror seeping through his veins, bringing an odd sort of calm as he realised, “You’ve been hit.”

Rey shook her head. “ _No_ ,” she gasped, but she was clutching her stomach, and she looked exhausted. “We have t-to get him. We have t-to get _Han_.” And, somehow, though she looked like every step cost her, she pushed off from the floor, her knees a mess of shredded skin and blood from impact with the grating, and her hands were still shaking as she adjusted her blaster and fired off several shots, protecting their retreat, though her eyes shimmered with tears.

“Rey…” Finn said gently, as they fled back out toward the ladder. “Han’s… He’s dead.”

“ _No he’s not!_ ”

For the first time, Rey sounded desperately young. Broken. Overwhelmed - it hurt Finn’s heart to hear her voice breaking, the desperate plea, a child’s cry… Rey hadn’t been raised a soldier. Raised in the knowledge that people she grew attached to would inevitably die gruesomely and forgotten on some distant battleground. That was part of Finn’s training; acceptance of his mortality. His expendability.

Tears shimmered down Rey’s face, as she hobbled to the edge of the landing. Her hands were shaking.

“Rey -“

“ _He’s not dead, Finn_!” Rey protested tearfully, her voice shaking, her teeth chattering, the cowl around her head falling to her shoulders in the wind. “W-we have to g-get to him before they do!”

“I - _how_?” Finn asked, as she gauged the ledge.

In the darkness, the tears glimmered on Rey’s cheeks as she turned to him. When she spoke, her voice was throaty, but calm. “Do you trust me, Finn?”

“Yes.”

“Jump.”

They jumped.

And something about his trust in Rey…he trusted _himself_ …he opened himself up, to everything around him, and instead of the thrill of exhilaration, or even fear at their plummeting fall…he felt _calm_ , almost at peace. Because Rey had a hold on him, he could _feel_ her wrapped around him, like a hug…and the embrace sparked something inside him.

Like recognised like. Something woke in him, as it had in Tuanul. Only it didn’t fizzle out and fade this time. The spark _grew_ , coaxed by the light in Rey…

They dropped a hundred feet in seconds. Landed gently in the snow. Finn blinked, lost for words: But Rey was already running, to the service doors she had opened for Chewie and Han, left open because of her tampering. She ran headlong into the burning building, her blaster swinging from her back, and Finn covered her on instinct.

“ _Rey_!” he shouted, as fires roared around her, more explosions sounding off deep in the bowels of the building, and Rey slid, bending almost in half to avoid the long arms of Chewie, who appeared, roaring, trying to grab her before she could dart through a hole in the wall, through the fires - Finn followed blindly, sending off a couple of shots that saw two troopers over the railings, instantly dead. It was so much easier to shoot without the helmet, he thought vaguely. He skidded to a stop before he collided with Rey, whose tearstained face was now smeared with soot, but entrancingly calm, her hand thrust out…and Finn’s jaw dropped…because Han came floating toward them through the smoke, unconscious, a sizeable hole burned through his tunic.

And Finn felt it.

He…felt _Rey_ , burning fiery and golden like the sun beside him, radiating pure light, sensuously intertwined with shadows and starlight, a beam of that golden light threading to _Han_ , whose own light flickered and winked, dim but stubborn.

“He’s still alive!” Finn panted in disbelief, and helped Rey lift Han over the railing, laying him gently on the floor. As he did so, the shuri beads on his wrist caught Finn’s eye. He knew what he had to do, as Rey untucked the hem of Han’s shirt from his trousers so they could see the damage. The wound had been cauterised by the weapon, and the scent of burned flesh made Finn gag. Rey had her hand pressed over Han’s heart, her eyes closed, her expression serene, and Finn could feel the light, all around them…he could sense the light growing a little stronger in Han, light pulsing between her and Han. Finn pressed one of the shuri beads into the burned tissue of Han’s stomach. “Help me turn him over.” They turned Han onto his side, and Finn - uncertain as to how effective the shuri beads were - pressed another into the exit-wound, with no idea of what the beads would do, only hoping it would be enough to keep Han alive until they could get him back to the Resistance base.

Rey reached up, and untangled the cowl around her shoulders, neatly wrapping the material around Han’s torso. Whatever was threaded through the fabric reacted with the nanotechnology in the beads, because the fabric glinted violet for a heartbeat, as Rey knotted a makeshift compressor bandage around Han’s middle. The fabric continued to glimmer and glint.

“A _hithline_ bandage?!” Finn panted, and Rey nodded, her hands shaking, as she tucked Han’s shirt over the bandage. The nanotech in the fabric would work with the shuri beads, Finn knew. “ _CHEWIE_!” Finn bellowed, and the Wookiee appeared, roaring, his bowcaster at the ready - he saw Han, let out an agonised roar so loud they could hear him over the noise of another explosion, and the Wookiee came to claim his friend, lifting him with surprising tenderness, after shoving his bowcaster across his back.

They ran. And not a moment too soon: As they pelted out into the snow, the Resistance pilots swooped down…unleashed their fury, deploying their bombs into the hole Han’s explosives had created in the roof.

“Chewie, don’t wait for us - get Han to the ship! Get him warm! And get the _Falcon_ in the air!” Finn yelled, and the Wookiee roared in the darkness, heading out into the billowing snowdrifts with an unerring sense of direction.

Rey was struggling. With her tiny frame, her painfully-thin clothing, her unfamiliarity with the snow, a physical pain that had no source, and having given of herself to bring Han back from the brink of death… Finn reached back, taking her hand, even as he recalled the lightning shooting from her fingertips, sending Ren flying, and kept pace with her. She looked haggard, sooty and tearstained.

And he had to have seen what she’d done to believe it.

He had to have felt what she had done, to understand it.

And he had. Somehow, Finn _had_.

They ran through the snow, chasing a gentle giant and a battered old war hero.

A few days ago, he would never have imagined this could be his life.

Holding her hand as they ran reassured and comforted him; she didn’t try to snatch her hand back, as she had in Niima Outpost. He didn’t think she even registered that they held hands as they ran.

They reached the forest when they heard it. The hiss and crackle of violent energy as snowflakes evaporated on contact with the unstable crimson weapon glowing evilly in the dark.

Finn exchanged a horrified look with Rey, who gazed solemnly through the snow at the pale face shining in the dark, a tall slash of darkness wielding the lightsaber. He was no longer wearing his mask, and fleetingly Rey noted that those were tearstains on his cheeks, illuminated by the lightsaber.

“We’re not done yet.” His voice rang clear, in the quiet of the woods.

Rey glared through the snow at him, her heart fiery with rage, with worry for Han, and hurt.

Hurt _for him_. For that boy, eternally falling, eternally screaming, desperate to touch the glimmer of light forever out of his reach, no-one to hear him.

Tears stung her eyes, hot, and good.

“He’s turned you into a _monster_ ,” she gasped, still _feeling_ it. The pain. The pain of what he had done, consuming him. It hurt her. Looking at him hurt. Because she could feel it. Everything. Everything he hid behind that mask.

“It’s just us, now,” he told her. He ignored Finn totally, his dark gaze focused solely on Rey. “Nothing else matters. Not Snoke, not Han Solo. Nothing but us.”

Rey blinked, her lips parting, as she felt it - _him_. The pain… She watched, staring uncertainly, as he balled a fist and struck himself - exactly where pain throbbed, blossoming through her abdomen. _His_ pain… Through their bond, she felt it - not just the bowcaster shot he had somehow absorbed, using the Force, not just the blast of Force lightning she had shot from her fingertips in a moment of incomprehensible rage and grief - but…she had dropped to her knees, feeling as if she had been split in two by the most brutal blow, her heart exploding with grief and pain, leaving nothing in its wake but raw grief, terror, and loss.

She felt his pain. His physical pain, his emotional agony…and his _hope_. His eyes gleamed as he gazed at her.

Because he knew as well as she did…they shared something exquisite. It had solidified, when she defied his attempts to claw into her mind. But it had always been there…a link, between them. A connection. It was always supposed to be the two of them. Here they were, after all this time, against all odds…

Slowly, Rey straightened. Shed his pain like clothing. Brought those invisible walls in place, protecting herself…watched him hurt himself to stoke his anger, his bewilderment, his need to punish others for how vulnerable he felt, how broken…screaming…always screaming, falling through that endless pit of impenetrable darkness…

Blood spattered the snow at his feet, and Rey gasped softly.

He was in pain. And he was hurting himself. And she couldn’t bear it.

The boy in the sand knelt before her, smiling shyly as he curled her fingers into a fist…

She had never left a creature to die a slow, brutal, agonising death.

Rey had always given the gift of mercy. Mostly because she got a meal out of it. But this was entirely different. She raised her blaster.

Better dead than in such pain.

She screamed, as the Force was hurled at her like a fist, his hand thrusting through the dark toward her - she flew, and the breath exploded from her lungs as she collided with a tree.

“ _REY!_ ” Finn bellowed, as she dropped to the snow - he flung his blaster aside, scrambling to her, turning her onto her side, hoping nothing had been broken. The light in her still burned bright, hot, pure and fierce. “ _Rey_?!”

“ _TRAITOR_!” His bellow echoed through the woods. The lightsaber roared violently as Ren twirled it in his hand, shedding crimson light everywhere, and Finn turned to glare over his shoulder.

He had never seen Kylo Ren without his mask.

It was unnerving, to see a young-man’s face. His eyes were wild, and Finn could taste his feral rage, his confusion, his…envy?… His eyes were narrowed to slits, glinting in the light of his volatile saber. Rising to his feet, Finn unclipped the lightsaber from his belt.

The blade hummed vibrantly, shining a blinding blue-white in the dark as he raised it.

“That lightsaber,” Ren growled, pointing his own at Finn. “It belongs to me.”

“Come get it!” Finn barked, letting out a battle-cry as he surged forward.

He met and parried thrusts, dodged them, but never gained ground; soon, he was on his back in the snow, and Kylo Ren was hissing, punching himself in the stomach again. Finn rose to his feet, desperate to take advantage - he lunged, and Kylo Ren simply leaned out of his reach, twirling his lightsaber…toying with Finn.

Finn held his own, blocking every swing of the saber, even as he lost ground. He stumbled backwards, bumping against a tree, realising his mistake too late. He raised the lightsaber, blocking Ren’s next swing…but he was _strong_ , so much stronger than Finn - bigger, too, a monster of a man. His face, the first time Finn had ever seen it, was closer than he would ever have wanted it, illuminated by the blue and red glows of the lightsabers as Finn’s arms shook and burned with the exertion, Ren’s face furious and tearstained as he pressed his advantage, knowing full well Finn had nowhere to escape. Wielding all his strength, Ren pressed against his blade, until he could turn the crossguard, one of the angrily hissing miniature blades of light sizzling through the leather of Poe’s jacket, and Finn screamed - the pain was unimaginable, as the energy burned straight through the leather, and his clothes, and his skin.

Ren released the pressure, stepped back, to swing down - trying to decapitate Finn, who ducked, dodging out of the way, and went on the offensive, satisfied by the grunt of pain Ren let out as Finn snatched the saber against his right arm, leaving a trail of embers behind. Ren clutched a hand over his upper-arm, where Finn had burned him.

But when Finn advanced, Ren was fuelled by pain and by rage, and met his offensive strike with such force, the lightsaber was knocked clear from his grip, sailing through the air, lost in the snow.

While Finn was disoriented from the loss of his weapon, Ren punched him, hard, in the jaw. And as Finn spun and fell toward the snow, Ren slashed his lightsaber diagonally up Finn’s back.

The traitor FN-2187 fell to the snow, unconscious, his battered Resistance jacket smoking, like the cauterised skin beneath.

Kylo Ren disengaged his weapon, tucking it onto his belt, and thrust a hand out. The lightsaber - his grandfather’s lightsaber - rested in the snow, and as he called to it, the hilt wobbled. Shot out of the snow, hurtling toward him - he leaned back to avoid being struck, as it soared through the air…

…and the scavenger caught it.

She stood in a clearing, the snow swirling softly around her, in a threadbare top with no sleeves that unintentionally showed off her dainty little breasts and the curve of her ribs, the knees of her short trousers ripped and soaked with blood, small and slender, with the unfamiliar weapon held uncertainly in her hands - she was _glorious_.

He gazed on in _awe_ of her as she raised the lightsaber in her hands, a smile almost playing on his lips as she ignited the blade.

She wanted to play? So be it. If it took spanking her now to coax her into letting him teach her later… He could imagine it. Teaching her to fight, but also how to wield the Force. There were no limits to what she could do. No limits to what _they_ could do. When he thought about the Force-lightning she had wielded… And their _bond_ …

She was slender and small and deceptively strong, and excitement flooded him, making him forget, for just a moment…forget it all. Forget everything but her determination, her excruciating ferocity, her righteousness as she fought to avenge her friends.

She was uncertain with the saber, it was clear: she had never held one before.

But she was angry. That beautiful rage was _powerful_.

He was physically compromised from the bowcaster blast, and her lightning; being torn apart by anguish, his heart exploding, his mind screaming…but in the woods, with her, he felt… _alive_ , as he hadn’t in years. There was nothing but her, and their lightsabers, and their duel. Playing in the snow. He wanted to see what she was capable of; he wanted her to see what she had it in her to be.

Her teeth were bared in a grimace, as she blocked every hit, but as with the traitor, he gained ground. Bravery was no match for training. And for all their lightsabers illuminated her surprising muscle-tone, she was a foot shorter and so slight one fierce snowstorm would carry her off into the atmosphere, forever lost.

He chased her through a crevasse - this one snow-strewn, dead trees blocking their path, contrasting the one in the Takodana littered with wildflowers - and she blocked several hits, before darting up the wall, dodging his swipes of annoyance as she ran, jumping out of his reach. She tumbled neatly, rose to her feet to block a hit, yelled, as she sliced clean through a downed tree, forcing him to wield the Force to protect himself as the tree collapsed, embers fluttering in the air, and he stalked after her, meeting her thrusts, the light glinting off her straight white teeth as she grimaced, stumbling back but determined not to give ground without a fight.

The ground rumbled beneath their feet, and she glanced over her shoulder for a heartbeat, to see the trees being felled as the ground collapsed. He pressed the advantage, and she gasped as she took a hit that reverberated through her arms, shaking. Gritting her teeth, she ducked back, leaping out of his reach again - she screamed, as their sabers locked, purplish light glowing where their blades crossed, and he could hear her soft gasps as she stumbled to keep her footing, even as the earth cracked open into a gaping chasm a foot behind her, the forest tumbling away.

She cried out, her eyes on their locked blades, her arms shaking with exertion, her face shining in the light as he gazed at her.

“You need a teacher!” he shouted urgently, over the rumble of the earth caving in on itself. She panted, swallowing, and gazed at him through their locked blades. “I can show you the ways of the Force.”

Her long, fine eyelashes fluttered as she blinked, snow clinging to them, as it lovingly rested on her cheeks and lips. She never lost focus on keeping her lightsaber raised, never let her guard down, even though her arms shook, and the earth fell away behind her.

Her courage and focus was mesmerising.

She panted, gazing at him…and closed her eyes. Entranced, he watched…serenity seemed to blossom from within her, radiating out, enveloping her. He felt it - she was still afraid, still in pain, but she was _calm_.

That focus was deadly.

Because she had found her footing.

If she had never wielded a lightsaber, that didn’t mean she hadn’t been trained to wield any weapon. He remembered the quarterstaff too late.

He’d forgotten that she was a survivor, first and foremost. She had survived one of the most hostile environments in the galaxy. And she _had_ been trained.

One day, he thought, as she yelled and broke their stalemate, he would ask her who had trained her.

She had never held a lightsaber…but she was a natural study. And she seemed to have remembered something. Remembered _herself_.

The saber’s balance was off - at least, to her; she was used to her staff, which was a natural extension of herself, so intimate was she with the weapon. And _he_ was definitely not Chirrut. But she remembered his gruelling training…other lessons, from other Force ghosts…

 _Harness your fear, your anger…but do not be so foolish as to give in to them. Calm and purpose must guide you, even as you channel the strength of your rage_ , a handsome young voice reminded her, and Rey consciously forced herself into the exquisitely serene state she had been in when she called Han to her, siphoning life from all around her, through her, passing it to him.

She assessed her surroundings, and _him_. He was injured. She could feel it. She could _feel_ his anguish, his mind flickering to the oscillator chamber, his father’s face slack as he tumbled from the bridge, his fingertips still warm against his cheek; and she could feel the burning, crippling pain spreading through his abdomen as he contained the plasma energy Chewie had shot him with, the energy of her Force-lightning.

Rey let the Light flow through her, guiding her, and drew on every single one of Chirrut’s relentless lessons, her experiences in the desert, her rage over Finn being hurt, her grief and worry for Han, her hope that Chewie had remembered the fuel-pump to get the _Falcon_ primed. She pressed her advantage.

And startled him.

Took him by surprise so much, he gave ground - and she went feral, determination and calm warring with her need to punish him for hurting the only people who had ever shown her kindness, who had risked everything to try to rescue her, against all odds. His father. Her friends.

“I would rather die than betray my friends,” she said calmly, stalking him, and for a heartbeat she realised how funny it was, this mountain of a man rippling with rage and strength, backing down from a tiny little skittermouse of a girl. “You would teach me only pain and suffering.”

“ _No_ ,” he protested, his eyes widening slightly, grunting as he dodged a hit. So focused on his face, on her calm, Rey moved without thought, deflecting, blocking, dodging.

“You would stand by and watch as he twisted and tormented everything good in me until I joined you in the Dark,” she said sadly. They both knew to whom she was referring - she had been inside his mind, and he knew it. _Snoke_. She lanced out - and snatched the tip of her saber against his shoulder, burning through fabric and flesh, and he yelled in pain, and shock, that she had landed a hit. He bared his teeth in pain, his dark eyes flitting over her face, her body, analysing her, but he shook his head, something flickering across his face. His father’s face flitted through his mind, and he panted, balking. He stumbled. Rey felt his desperation, his agony, the nausea roiling in her own stomach, and she heard him…screaming in despair, anguished and hopeless, his heart so full of love it hurt, desperate to carve it from his chest. Only then would he be what the Supreme Leader expected him to be.

“ _No_ ,” he repeated beseechingly, his eyes gleaming. He parried a blow from her; the impact sent shocks up her arms, and she panted, circling him, assessing for her next strike. The ground rumbled beneath their feet. How long did they have, before the planet imploded? “ _Join me_! I can teach you how to harness your powers - and you will live.”

“I’ll live anyway,” Rey said coolly. “I’ve been known to be stubborn that way.”

“Do not err for ill; if you are not an ally, you are his enemy,” Ren exclaimed desperately, grimacing as he blocked a torrent of sharply calculated hits - she wasn’t strong like he was, but she was _fast_ , nimble, and used her smaller size to her advantage, dancing around him. He relied on brute strength, and she took advantage, provoking him, never letting him truly land a blow. “He will destroy you.”

“He’ll try and destroy me either way,” Rey said softly. “Like he has with you.”

Something flickered across his face, stark, embarrassed - he panted, blocking another blow, but he stumbled.

“I can _help_ you,” he insisted, his face - for the first time - open, earnest, and utterly vulnerable. “You don’t have to be afraid of me - _I feel it too_.”

She started. Gazed at him, her lips parting.

He…felt her.

He…didn’t want her to be _afraid_ of him. Desperately, didn’t want that. She felt it, burning inside him.

 _“You were gonna fight them all?” he asked in hesitant Basic, and she nodded. She wasn’t sure she shouldn’t be trying to find a way to hobble him, too. But he was so_ big _. Was he going to take what she had scavenged? “Are you going to fight me?”_

_“Maybe,” Rey said fiercely, and his lush lips twitched as if she was funny. He stabbed his staff in the sand, sighing, and sank to one knee. Even kneeling, he towered over her. He had large ears and pretty eyes, and a kind, long face that seemed sad, even if his eyes glittered with gentle laughter._

_“You’re a brave little thing, aren’t you?” He reached out to tenderly touch her braid, and Rey found herself relaxing. He was being kind to her. And she felt…safe…as if he should always have been with her._

_“Doesn’t take bravery for sandsnakes to bite back when they’re attacked_.”

_“I suppose not,” he said, a soft smile on those pretty lips. She’d not seen anybody like him at Niima Outpost, ever. Some of the older women…would probably have liked the way he looked. She liked the way he’d battered the Strus clan. She’d never seen anyone fight so…elegantly. It was a strange word, but she knew what it meant: It meant him, when he was fighting. “Well, you’re not gonna land many hits like that - not without hurting yourself. Can I show you?”_

_She raised her tiny hands to him, eager to learn._

Rey gulped at the memory, and stared at the man in the snow. She had learned two things that day: That no matter how big or monstrous an enemy seemed, how much she had dreaded them, they could always be beaten. And how to curl her fist properly before throwing a punch.

She panted, and told him earnestly, bitterly disappointed, “If you were still the boy in the sand asking me…I’d have joined you in a heartbeat.”

His eyes widened, lush lips parting.

She switched her lightsaber into her left hand.

Then she punched him in the stomach, exactly where hers throbbed with unendurable pain.

As he buckled, crying out in pain, she used the hilt of her own saber to hit the back of his hand as hard as he could; he dropped his saber, his fingers shaking. Without his weapon to block her, she kicked out, stomping as hard as she could on his tender inner-thigh, making him sob with pain as he fell to one knee.

She switched hands again, and as he stumbled, swung her lightsaber. He took the glancing blow to his head, his chest, a severe burn slashed from his brow, down his cheek, his neck, across his shoulder, down his chest, as he sprawled in the snow, yelling in pain, and Rey stepped back, her lips parting.

She felt it, gasping in horror as his pain seared through her, and she clapped a hand over her brow, tears smarting in her eyes.

 _Kill him, now_ , a voice whispered. She knew it would be easy. She remembered the fate of Lor San Tekka and the villagers of Tuanul; Finn’s story of the Resistance pilot Poe Dameron; she remembered the manacles; his attempts to enter her mind; Han, falling from the bridge; Finn, lying in the snow, broken.

He panted in the snow, wounded as Finn was, watching her as she advanced…but it wasn’t horror, or dread that she felt rippling from him as she held the lightsaber aloft…

Awe.

Her defiance _staggered_ him.

She disengaged her blade. Lowered the lightsaber. Staggered a few steps back, shaking her head, panting, suddenly feeling the cold. Shock settled over her, at the sight of the damage she had inflicted on him, red and glaring and angry, a vicious wound…

He watched, his jaw hanging open, staring at her, bewildered that she hadn’t delivered the killing blow. She couldn’t. She _wouldn’t_.

The ground shook beneath her feet. Twisting, she flung herself higher as the earth fell away beneath her, clinging on - when the ground settled, she glanced over her shoulder. A chasm had opened up between them, fire already burning deep within the heart of the fissure, trees and earth falling into it, and across the gulley, her lips parted as armoured troopers approached the injured man still staring at her. They picked him up, and carried him into the darkness.

None of the troopers bothered to fire shots. She was as good as dead.

A shrewd-faced officer stopped, picked up Ren’s lightsaber. Gave her a bored, dismissive look across the chasm, and turned to follow the troopers.

Rey gasped, pulled herself up the cliff-face, the lightsaber looped onto her belt, and ran through the woods, reaching out - she found Finn, unconscious in the snow, his cauterised wound still hissing in the cold, snow melting as it drifted onto his exposed burned skin.

For a heartbeat, Rey knelt in shock. Then she let the calm flow through her; and focused only on the light she had recognised in Finn when they jumped from the oscillation control building. His light was strong, far stronger than Han’s, and unwavering. But he was gravely injured.

Her eyes burst open as she remembered the beads Finn had shoved into Han’s wounds. Reaching for his wrist, she noticed several more, and plucked three - the remaining ones stayed pressed against his skin as if magnetised - and carefully pressed the three beads into his wound, one at either end of the long, hideous laceration, one in the middle. It reminded her of the chasm that had broken open in the earth’s surface, ragged destruction all along it, fire below.

The ground continued to shake, trees toppling around them, and Rey vaguely wondered if Chewie had gotten away in the _Falcon_ with Han.

If this was it, well…she didn’t even think that perhaps she should have killed Ren.

All she thought, as the world imploded beneath her, was that at least she was with the only friend she had ever had.

Calm settled through her, hot tears stinging her eyes as she rested a hand on Finn’s closely-cropped hair.

She blinked. Bright light shone on them. She shielded her eyes, and a few seconds later, she let out a wet laugh of astonishment, Chewie roaring as he strode through the snow, bellowing for her and Finn.

Her laugh sounded strange, mingled with the sounds of a planet imploding. But she was laughing, and she was smiling, tears still shining on her cheeks, eyelashes frozen together, as Chewie stooped to lift Finn with the same gentleness he had lifted his old friend.

Chewie grumbled at her, and Rey nodded, not needing to reply as she ran for the loading-ramp, hurtled through the ship to the cockpit - her mind acknowledged that Han lay in the med-bay under a heap of blankets - and flung herself into the co-pilot’s seat, getting ready.

“ _Millennium Falcon, do you copy? This is Black Leader_!”

Rey snatched the comms device, tugging it on with one hand as she flipped switches and tugged levers.

“Er - copy? Black Leader. This is the _Millennium Falcon_ ,” she said uncertainly.

“ _Who’s that?! Where’s Finn? Where’s General Solo? Where’s Chewbacca_?”

She knew she sounded tearful as she said, “Han and Finn are both hurt, but alive. Chewie’s here -“ The Wookiee roared, and Black Leader laughed with relief at the sound of his voice; Chewie joined her, saying, _That’s my seat_.

But he sat in his friend’s pilot’s seat, and a moment later the _Falcon_ was beyond Ilum’s atmosphere, an honour-guard of Resistance _X-wing_ fighters clustered around them as they fled the planet, and any First Order starships that had made it off the base. Rey knew at least one had. And for a second, she indulged - she checked. She had to. She made sure he was alive.

He was. He was crippled by agony, but he was alive. And as she reached out…she felt a ripple of something… _him_ , responding to her hesitant probe…something like _relief_ fluttered through the bond.

He was alive. And he knew she was, too. Was _glad_ she was.

And for reasons she couldn’t explain, she was relieved he was alive, too.

Ilum exploded. Even racing away as fast as they could, the light of the explosion was blinding, and she felt it in her belly as the planet exploded.

“ _Millennium Falcon, this is Black Leader. Who am I talking to?_ ”

Her hands still shaking, Rey took a moment, while Chewie confirmed readouts and plotted their navigation route, to sit back in the co-pilot’s chair, and adjust the comms device wrapped around her head.

“I’m Rey.”

She heard Black Leader chuckle over the comms system, several other people laughing and whooping their delight, and she wondered why.

Then she heard a stream of excited binary beeps. _My Rey! My Rey! My Rey!_

“BeeBee-Ate!” Rey laughed in spite of herself, smiling.

“ _Glad to talk to you, Rey. I’m Poe_. Y _ou ready to go home_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally wasn’t going to save Han. Because so many scenes were playing out in my head for Ben Solo later on… Then I was desperate for Ben and Han to have father/son time as adults.


	13. Debrief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where things diverge from canon! Because things just didn’t make sense in The Last Jedi in terms of timelines, and tone. I wish they’d shown more of Kylo Ren’s struggles, being drawn to the Light! That scene in Force Awakens when he insists he can get the map from Rey felt to me like he was trying to prevent the Star-Killer from being used on the Hosnian System. There was a flicker in his expression, as if he knew exactly what the weapon was capable of and didn’t want it used. Maybe I’m reaching? I don’t know - I just wish they’d shown the conflict in Ren in his actions, you know?
> 
> Also, how quickly do you want Rey to meet her family? Or, rather, to have it be acknowledged that the people she meets are actually her family. 
> 
> I’ve been asked for Face-Claims for this story: There are only a few that diverge from canon, so far. The first is, significantly, Rey. Perhaps because she’s a face-claim for another one of my OCs (Giulia Salvatore from my Vampire Diaries stories), and because of her warmth and exoticness that remind me of sun-drenched deserts and paradise islands, but I can’t think of Rey without imagining her as looking like a more petite version of Gal Gadot. Other face-claims (so far) include: Zsa Zsa Koth - Zoё Kravitz; Hatshepsut Koth - Tessa Thompson; Shireen - Stormi Bree. I’m also claiming Rihanna as inspiration and face-claim for Aradmé, Queen of Naboo. As and when I introduce other OCs, I’ll update my face-claims - and there will be more!

**I Am Yours, You Are Mine**

_13_

_Debrief_

* * *

They made a decent team, in spite of her inexperience. Chewie was a patient teacher; but she was still relieved when the sleek old cruiser _Raddus_ locked onto them, taking control of the freighter out of their hands. For her second intergalactic flight, it was less eventful than the first, though she was more anxious because of the two wounded men in the lounge, both ominously quiet.

The main hangar of the _Raddus_ was a riot of activity. Even from her seat in the cockpit, Rey could tell that there was room for more starships than had returned from Ilum. Maintenance crews watched carefully for their fighters to return; but they never would. And they turned their energies to helping the other teams. Before the loading-ramp had even descended safely, she could hear the urgent chatter of people: The lounge had already filled with strangers as they left the cockpit, and Chewie rumbled a warning and a plea as medics swarmed Han and Finn. Two teams, already prepared to treat the wounded. Rey supposed they were the _only_ wounded to return, so they had the luxury of the best Resistance surgeons’ full attention.

A young girl with hundreds of glossy braids wound into two buns on top of her head - the same girl who had disabled the shields on Star-Killer Base - was busy scanning Han with one of those strange blue-grey beads that had stabilised Han and Finn’s wounds, and allowed Finn to communicate with her across a galaxy in that exquisite holo-image while she hacked into the First Order’s systems to disengage the shields.

“A compression bandage made of _hithline_?” she said, sounding surprised and a little impressed as she glanced up from Han. “Wherever did this come from?”

“It’s…mine,” Rey said uncertainly, as the girl continued to scan Han with her beads. Rey wondered what they were all doing, but Rey had no experience with healing and medicine: She wasn’t going to interrupt anyone or get in the way. She knew how dire Han’s injury was. The girl turned her beaming face to Rey.

“You really _do_ know what you’re doing,” said the girl, flashing her white teeth.

“It only appears that way,” Rey told her, and the girl’s violet eyes glowed, giving Rey an assessing look. One of her beads trilled musically, glowing gold.

“What’s that - is that - is Han going to be okay?” Rey blurted uneasily.

One of her beads projected something above her palm, and the girl examined the data critically. “It may take a while, but I believe he will be, yes,” said the girl. She was younger than Rey by several years, wore no discernible uniform - in fact, she was dressed vibrantly and irreverently - but gave off an aura of capability, maturity and unflappable composure. Her smile was warm with compassion, as she said, “The lightsaber missed the General’s spine by an inch. He was very lucky. Everything else is nothing time and bacta cannot repair.”

“Are you sure?” Rey asked, as Chewie rumbled. The girl smiled reassuringly, nodding, and accompanied Han down the loading-ramp with a team of other medics, med-bots floating around them. Rey glanced at Finn, who followed, still unconscious, a dark-haired man with a subtle eye-patch checking his vitals, using the same blue-grey beads as the vibrant girl. Chewie loped down the loading-ramp, leaving Rey alone, and uncertain. She had retrieved her satchel and her staff, and lingered at the top of the loading-ramp fiddling with the leather and fabric wrappings of her staff, wondering what she should do with herself - uncertain who to ask, and wondering whether even they would know what to do with her. Perhaps she could get to work making repairs to the _Falcon_. As yet, no team had approached the battered old legendary freighter to begin working on it.

There were more people littered about the hangar than she had ever seen at Niima Outpost at any given time. More starships than she would usually have seen within the same year, refuelling, repairs being made by dedicated teams, pilots and droids conferring with mechanics, while a voice made announcements over the comms system. It was…daunting. To someone used to the isolation of her _AT-AT_ and the pervasive silence of the desert, it was…sensory overload, more so even than Maz’s castle, which had had a relaxed, welcoming atmosphere. The hangar was busy, regimented and seemed to run itself. She was out of place. Chirrut would have told her to gentle her heart, and hone her senses. To filter out everything unnecessary - especially because she was overwhelmed.

But she was more concerned that she had absolutely no idea what to do with herself, now that they were safely tucked away in a Resistance cruiser. Although, she supposed _safety_ was a relative term when one was involved with freedom-fighters.

“ _Rey_!” She jumped, startled by the sound of her name being called over the noise of the hangar, and glanced around uncertainly, trying to find the source of the voice, not completely convinced whoever had spoken wasn’t calling to another Rey at work in the depths of the hangar. Then she heard the familiar trilling and coos, and spotted the one-of-a-kind colouring of BB-8 as the droid zoomed around people on his way to her. He was beeping and chirping delightedly, zooming up the loading-ramp to trill at her, his tone giddy as he circled her legs once, bumping his head against her knee in an affectionate gesture. Behind BB-8, a handsome man with richly tanned skin like hers, inky black hair and a split lip strode briskly through the crowd, grinning at some, clapping others on the back, his red flight-suit marking him as a pilot even if Rey knew nothing about Navy structure. His smile was easy-going, even exhilarated.

BB-8 chirped, _This is my human, Poe Dameron_.

Rey’s lips parted, as she glanced at the man making his way up the loading-ramp toward her. “You belong to BeeBee-Ate,” she said, realising, and the man nodded.

“I do,” he grinned easily. “I’m Poe Dameron. You’re Rey. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Rey blinked, stunned. “You _have_?”

“Of course,” Poe smiled, and BB-8 chirped. “BeeBee-Ate told me he’s keeping you.” Rey smiled wearily. There was a soft buzzing behind her ears, and her eyes felt as if they were being squeezed, and simultaneously rubbed with sand: She was exhausted. How long had she managed to sleep, in the service corridor of Star-Killer Base? How long since she had met Finn, Chewie and Han in the corridor, and turned off the shields?

How long since Han and Finn had been hurt?

And how long since she had left _him_ wounded in the snow?

A soul-deep, grinding lethargy such as she had never known warred with a hyper-awareness that made colours too bright, sounds jarringly loud, the tang of fuel and oil burning her nose, and the ultimate insignificance of her presence in the hangar, in the middle of deep space. She felt…so small, so _adrift_...

In the last few days, she had done more and traversed farther than she ever had since first being flung into the sands of Niima Outpost all those years ago. At Maz’s cantina, enjoying her first real meal in… _memory_ …was the only time in the last few days (and Rey couldn’t honestly say how many) that she had had time to sit, and just _breathe_ \- and even that had been cut short. She didn’t like to think too long on the lightsaber, now looped onto her belt. How _right_ it had felt in her hands, even though the balance was unfamiliar to her. She didn’t like to think that she would get better at it, more intuitive with it, if she _practised_ more.

Because she never wanted to inflict the kind of pain she had rendered on _him_ to anyone else.

She could have killed him - _should_ _have_ \- and the thought that it could have been _so easy_ upset her.

Rey had left him in the snow…she wondered if she should have. Whether she…could have brought him with her. She knew it wouldn’t have been _safe_ to, but… She had delved into his mind. It wasn’t as simple as saying he was evil, and leaving it at that. Confused, manipulated, ill-used, afraid and so desperately, soul-achingly lonely, yes…but evil…no. Rey didn’t believe he was, didn’t believe he was truly capable of pure evil. He had done reprehensible things, undoubtedly, things that he would spend a lifetime seeking forgiveness for, if he cared for forgiveness…but he wasn’t evil.

Was _she_ , for leaving him wounded in the snow? Troopers had come for him, gathered him up and shuttled him off Ilum before the system became a binary… But what if…? She had explored his mind… What if she had brought him with them, on the _Falcon_ , to the Resistance?

Rey knew without any hint of doubt in her heart that, given the opportunity to try and kill Han Solo again…he would rather throw his weapon away than harm him. Once had almost destroyed him. That’s what she had felt, as she had fallen to her knees: His soul being torn in two, in agony and anguish over the act. His grief, his despair, had momentarily crippled her.

She had thought it, in the woods: It would be a mercy to kill him.

But she hadn’t.

Because of the boy in the sand.

She gazed at Poe Dameron. Finn had told her about him; the way he had given Finn his name - asking if he liked it - and had the presence of mind to check how Finn was handling things as they made their escape. He could have killed Finn, as an enemy, a Stormtrooper, no matter if he had claimed to be a defector; because how had Poe known Finn wasn’t setting him up, could be trusted? Perhaps he had had a feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Rey’s empty stomach was telling her that…she would regret _not_ reaching out a hand to help him out of the snow before the earth fractured between them, putting them on opposite sides of a war.

_“I can help you,” he had insisted, his face open, earnest, and utterly vulnerable. “You don’t have to be afraid of me - I feel it too.”_

_He felt her presence in his mind and his entire being, too. He…didn’t want her to be afraid of him. Desperately, didn’t want that_.

She had felt it, burning inside him.

His agony, his awe…and the desperation - for contact, _closeness_. Yearning for…intimacy. All they had ever known was soul-grinding loneliness.

Rey gazed at Poe, wondering why he had trusted Finn: And why she hadn’t trusted her own instincts. She should have offered her hand. Her _help_.

She remembered his darkness - and the boy screaming, unheard as he fell through the void. She reached up a hand, scrubbing at her eyes. She should have tried to reach him. She should never have hurt him.

“You look like I feel,” Poe smiled, his dark eyes warm and almost fond as he reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “C’mon, they’re expecting us in the bridge for debriefing.”

“ _Us_?”

Poe smiled again. “You and Chewbacca are the only two who are conscious to tell us what happened on the ground. And between you and me, we’d all rather hear it from you than listen to C-3PO translate Shyriiwook.”

Rey was startled, and couldn’t help wonder if Finn had learned it from Poe as he took her hand, already striding down the loading-ramp and toward an exit out of the hangar, BB-8 chirping and cooing excitedly as he kept pace with them. Whether he knew it or not, and she hoped he never told Finn if he guessed it, but Poe holding her hand as he guided their way through labyrinthine too-bright passages littered with droids and equipment, aliens, humanoids and uniformed humans settled her nerves. She tucked her staff across her back, and did her best not to get underfoot; but everyone seemed to know Poe, and the way was relatively clear for them.

Soon, they were in the bridge. Like her interrogation-room on Star-Killer Base, the ship was outfitted with sleek consoles and seamless curved walls. But that was where the comparison ended. An enormous viewport opened up to the stars streaming past like vibrant blue-white ribbons. The bridge was teeming with life, almost as loud as the hangar as multiple conversations were carried out across the chamber, through comms systems, holograms glimmering here and there, people working from vibrant consoles. There was tension in the chamber, but it wasn’t the unnatural kind of tension she had felt every moment on Star-Killer Base. This was the tension of people who knew they had a job to do, and had committed all their energy to getting it done: They broke off halfway through one conversation to shout something across the room to another person, to either brief applause or a collective groan and a sigh of acknowledgement and grief, and went back to their conversations, from what Rey could hear, issuing new assignments, new objectives.

“What are they doing?” she asked curiously.

“Contacting our operatives and our allies across the galaxy,” Poe murmured to her, his face sombre. “After the Hosnian Cataclysm, we need to know who’s still alive - and _they_ need to be reassured we’re still fighting.”

“I would think destroying Star-Killer Base will send that message out loud and clear throughout the galaxy,” Rey muttered, and Poe grinned.

“Here’s hoping,” he said.

“What does it mean?” Rey asked him, and he raised one dark eyebrow. “That the New Republic is gone?”

Poe sighed heavily. “It means the First Order has no need to keep up pretence that they’re anything but what they are. Terrorists intent on enslaving the galaxy. And it means our job just got a lot harder; until we can get word to our allies and our people in occupied territories that Star-Killer Base is destroyed, every star-system is going to be warring with itself over what to do, to keep their planets from being the First Order’s next target.”

“And the First Order will take advantage of the chaos,” Rey realised.

“Why do you say that?” Poe asked curiously.

“If there were two people fighting over parts and tech they had scavenged, you had better believe that’s when Strus clan would take advantage and steal it while they were both distracted,” Rey said, and Poe nodded, smiling.

“Strus clan? I had the pleasure of dealing with them in my time on Jakku,” Poe said, smiling softly. “That’s what we believe the First Order will do, once they’ve regrouped. Use the chaos of the Hosnian Cataclysm to their advantage while star-systems scramble to figure out their next move.”

“Even with Star-Killer Base destroyed?”

“The fact that something that destroyed an entire star-system could itself be destroyed by a few Resistance fighters with little more than a give-‘em-hell attitude and a bag of explosives?” Poe shrugged, his eyes glinting. “It’ll go a long way to inspiring people to stand against the First Order, but…with the New Republic and the Senate destroyed…there are more and worse out there than the First Order, and they’ll take full advantage of the chaos.”

“So you’re fighting against people’s worst instincts, not just the First Order,” Rey said, and Poe nodded.

“Not just us. You’re one of us now, Rey,” Poe smiled, his eyes twinkling.

Rey had never been _part_ of anything before. Something more than herself. Until she had met BB-8, until she had met Finn, until Han and Chewie…she had never had anything. Never had _anyone_. Not that she could remember… She thought of the visions the lightsaber had shown her - of her _family_. She hadn’t had time to even dwell on those glimpses into the past, with everything that had occurred after - and she didn’t have the luxury of time now. BB-8 had plugged himself into the main console, transferring data she supposed he had accumulated during their mission to Star-Killer Base, and Rey watched the little orange-and-white droid.

Until BB-8 she had never met anyone associated with the Resistance, that she was ever aware of - thinking on it, she supposed that Lor San Tekka giving Poe (and thus BB-8) the map to Luke Skywalker, Rey _had_ known someone associated with the Resistance - and so she could never have envisioned the scale of the movement, or imagined what their operatives actually _did_. Rey was limited by her own experiences, and her world was being made brutally bigger with every passing day since she had rescued BB-8 from that Teedo.

Leaders of the Resistance were gathered, and if she didn’t know their faces, as each turned to greet Poe, Rey knew their names from stories of the Rebellion so many years ago. There were living legends in this chamber. And once again, they fought to preserve liberty as darkness threatened the galaxy with a chokehold on everything good and wondrous and _free_. Rey wondered how much damage Maz’s castle had sustained in the attack on the star-port - if Maz herself had survived the ambush. She hadn’t thought to ask Chewie, so concerned with getting to the _Raddus_ , with getting their friends to the med-bay. For a second, Rey thought she heard Maz’s recognisable, rich, compassionate voice, but when she glanced around, all she saw was a hologram fading out, and a petite woman with steel-grey hair coiled into a continuous braid like a crown around her head, talking to Chewie and several other Wookiees.

She gaped, realising… _General Organa_.

There was no mistaking her. Tiny, but _powerful_. Grace and charisma seemed to drift off her in waves; Light glimmered from her, bright and unwavering.

“Poe!” she exclaimed, her eyes crinkling in the corners as she raised her hands, and the pilot stepped forward eagerly; she clasped her dainty hands on his cheeks, his jaw, her eyes twinkling with delight saturated by sadness. One of her pilots had returned, Rey realised; but many more hadn’t. And as the leader of the Resistance, as General Organa, it was she who gave the orders. Sent those people to their deaths, in the hopes the sacrifice would create a better world.

“We destroyed Star-Killer Base,” Poe said, and for a second, his voice sounded heavy. General Organa nodded.

“We paid for it with many lives,” she acknowledged grimly. “We will have to take a moment, when we can breathe, to remember those lives.”

“We won’t forget,” Poe told her, and the older lady nodded sombrely. “General Organa, _this_ is Rey. The girl Finn told us about.” Rey glanced at Poe, uncertain what he meant by that; what could Finn have had to say about her?

General Organa turned to Rey, and her eyes crinkled again as she smiled. She stepped forward, reaching for Rey; her hands were soft, delicate, and she wore large, elaborate rings on two fingers. She took Rey’s hands, clasping them in her own, and feeling the softness of her skin, Rey was suddenly embarrassed by the coarseness of her own hands, the wicked scars, ragged cuts and burns that had accumulated over the years. Her hands weren’t soft: They were the hands of a scavenger.

The hands of a survivor.

The General didn’t seem to notice the coarseness of her skin; because she was focused on Rey’s face, gazing up into her eyes, and _smiling_ at her, those big, dark, luminous eyes memorising her face. Her voice was rich, warm, when she said, “Chewie told me what you did.”

Rey glanced uncertainly at the older woman, licking her lips, and asked, “All…all of it?”

For a second, the General didn’t respond; she merely gazed into Rey’s eyes. Then, she slowly nodded. “The plasma…the Rathtar…healing him…” she said softly. Rey’s eyes flicked to hers uncertainly when she added quietly, “And the lightning… He also told me the only reason Han is here in our care in the med-bay is because of you.”

“It was…it was me _and_ Finn,” Rey said, and General Organa smiled warmly.

“Well, all I can say is that the Force set something quite extraordinary in motion when it put you in BeeBee-Ate’s path,” General Organa said. She laughed to herself softly. “Leave it to a droid to drag an unsuspecting young-adult into their messes…” BB-8 chirped indignantly; the General chuckled. “You could have had no idea, the risk involved in helping this droid. _Thank you_. What that map means to us… And for bringing my husband home…there are no words to express my gratitude.”

Rey didn’t know how to respond; so she didn’t. She just let the General squeeze her hands and smile at her like she was the most precious thing in the galaxy in that moment.

Then the noise-level in the bridge dropped, and the General turned to address her officers. The moment she had stolen for herself, to thank Rey for saving her husband’s life, was over: She was now General Organa, leader of the Resistance. And everyone looked to her for direction…and for _hope_.

It was a long meeting, and Rey wasn’t sure she should have been privy to most of it. Though she acknowledged that most of the technical jargon went over her head, Rey still understood the gist of things. She was only there because she had accidentally been on the ground inside the bowels of Star-Killer Base and had joined Han, Finn and Chewie before they had lowered the shields and planted the explosives. But she stared, her lips parted in awe and mingled horror when Poe finished giving his report of the aerial assault on Star-Killer Base’s oscillation control tower, and General Organa turned to _her_ , Rey, and said, “It’s because of you Han and Finn volunteered to infiltrate the Base and lower the shields.”

“Because of me?” she said, her voice very small as the people around her muttered and nodded, smiling.

“Finn was adamant he go after you,” Poe smiled fondly. “He knew what Kylo Ren is capable of. Finn couldn’t bear the idea of leaving your fate in Ren’s hands.”

“And that brings us right to it,” General Organa said, sighing heavily, her face grim. “Chewbacca has given his report, and Zsa Zsa Koth provided her notes on lowering the shields before she headed into surgery with Han.” The General paused, and something stark flitted across her face, just for a second, the light in her eyes winking out in devastation. Then she glanced up at Rey, and the same warm, encouraging but unyielding look reappeared on the General’s face. “We know that Han’s injury was sustained from a lightsaber.” General Organa pursed her lips, her eyelashes fluttering as she glanced down at the console, taking a breath. “Beyond your escape from the oscillation control tower, we don’t know what happened, how Finn was hurt. Perhaps you could enlighten us.”

“I…didn’t see them fight,” Rey said, her face flaming as all eyes turned to her. She suddenly felt _very_ small. “Finn and I sent Chewie on ahead with Han, to get him to the _Falcon_ , to get him warm, and the ship prepared, and we ran after… Kylo Ren found us in the woods as we ran after Chewie. I tried to shoot him with my blaster but he just flung me against a tree, winding me…I woke up to the sound of Finn screaming, they’d fought with the lightsabers… _duelled_. Finn went down, and I…” Rey gulped, and glanced down at the lightsaber looped to her belt. “I summoned the lightsaber at the same time Kylo Ren did, but it…it came to _me_. And then we fought.”

“You _fought_ Kylo Ren?” Poe blurted, his eyes widening.

“Well, he - he was injured,” Rey said uncertainly, flushing. “Chewie got him with his bowcaster when we were still in the oscillator control tower, and…I zapped him.”

“With a pistol? I mean, I’ve seen that guy stop plasma blasts in mid-air with a wave of his hand,” Poe said, glancing around the room.

“Um…not plasma, no…” Rey said, glancing uncertainly at Chewie, who rumbled softly. _They know_. She gulped, and glanced at her fingertips. She could still _feel_ it, the raw _power_ radiating through her, energy and light, exhilarating, exquisite and delicious, uncontrollable, overwhelming, frightening. “It was… _me_.”

For a moment, no-one spoke. Then General Organa said, “You wielded the Force against him.” Rey gulped, and nodded. Several people exchanged looks, muttering. General Organa nodded to herself. “Han told me, before he and Finn headed to Star-Killer Base with Chewie…you’d shown proof you are Force-sensitive. You’re not the first we’ve ever met, and not the only one among us to be one with the Force.” But she didn’t understand, Rey thought, not really. How could she? What Rey had done… It was different than everything she had ever been coaxed and trained into exploring by Chirrut or Anakin or any one of the numerous Force ghosts that had visited her through the years. “You’re saying Kylo Ren was weakened when you two met in combat?”

Rey nodded, glad General Organa had focused the conversation again. “He…was bleeding in the snow, and he kept punching himself in the side where Chewie shot him - I think to…to make himself angrier, to hone his pain and aggression like another weapon. So, I…I used his vulnerability against him. He’s… _huge_ -“ Poe nodded reminiscently, his eyebrows raised, and across the console, a woman who resembled Zsa Zsa, with rich dark skin and elaborate braids around a crown of horns, her face marked with pale intricate tattoos, smirked softly to herself, almost sadly, “but…I’m quick on my feet and, well… I wasn’t taught to make combat look _pretty_ , I learned to fight to survive, by any means necessary… So I punched him where he was injured, kicked him in the inner-thigh, used the hilt of my lightsaber to try and break his hand where he gripped the hilt of his…and then I…then I dropped him.”

“ _You_ dropped him?” said the woman with the horns, the Zabrak with exquisite tattoos and stunning braids gathered into a ponytail down her back, wearing a clinical jersey, her hands busy with something Rey couldn’t see. Her eyebrows were raised - either in disbelief or incredulity.

Rey found it difficult to swallow as she nodded, and said, “I-I wounded him.” She raised her hand, and indicated with her thumb in a jerky movement, trailing it from her forehead, across her face, toward her right breast. “I left him split open in the snow.”

“But not dead?” someone asked, and the General’s dark eyes flitted to them.

“All likelihood is, Kylo Ren died in the cataclysm of Ilum,” said a statuesque, lilac-haired woman gently, glancing at the General.

“He didn’t,” Rey said, and General Organa turned to stare at her; several others did, too.

“How do you know?”

“When I cut him down, into the snow, that’s when Ilum started to rupture,” Rey said. “A chasm opened up between us - but I saw Stormtroopers approach, and they carried him away. There was an officer with them - or he looked like what I think a First Order officer would look like. He had shiny boots.”

“Did you get a good look at the officer?” Poe asked urgently.

“He…looked at me like I was luggabeast shit,” Rey said honestly, to a murmur of laughter at her turn of phrase. “He had a sharp, pointy face. Quite young.”

“That’ll be General Hux,” Poe sighed, wrinkling his nose in distaste, glancing at the other officers clustered either side of General Organa. “So Hux survived the cataclysm, with Kylo Ren. Snoke’s dogs.”

“But Kylo Ren is injured,” Rey said quietly, glancing at Poe with a slight frown. Poe couldn’t know how true it was that Snoke treated Kylo Ren like a rabid animal - beaten into submission, until he craved more, believed himself only worthy of punishment, anxious to please… “I don’t think he’ll be up to very much for quite a while. And I don’t mean from what _I_ did to him - I don’t know how he was on his feet after Chewie hit him with his bowcaster.” The Wookiee rumbled, and to Rey it sounded like a sorrowful, regretful noise.

“Well, he’ll be on his feet before long,” said the Zabrak woman, who, Rey noticed, wore those blue-grey beads on her wrist.

Poe gazed right at Rey when he muttered, “And he’ll be angry.”

“Angry makes you stupid,” said the Zabrak, glancing at Poe. “Stupid gets you killed. And for all the things Kylo Ren is…he’s never been stupid.”

“Well, not all of us know Kylo Ren like you do, Hatshepsut,” said someone out of Rey’s view, not even hiding their derision.

“You’re quite right about that,” Hatshepsut said. “General, if that’s all, I have more pressing matters to attend to.”

“Yes, thank you for listening in, Hatshepsut,” General Organa nodded, and the Zabrak woman vanished. Rey realised that her image had been projected from one of the blue-grey beads the entire time; she had never been in the bridge at all. The projection was that flawless.

Rey was asked to recount all she remembered of Star-Killer Base. And when it became clear she had nothing to contribute, due to the circumstances of her temporary imprisonment, the conversation turned to other things, things she should have been more concerned about: the death-toll among their people, both during the Battle of Star-Killer Base, the pilots who had not returned home, and those operatives and allies they had lost in the Hosnian Cataclysm; planets that had already reached out to commit their support after the Hosnian Cataclysm; new informants and allies across the galaxy; and losses, senators and governments and royalty withdrawing support. It was the hope of the high command that, with the destruction of Star-Killer Base, those who were still anxious about associating with them against the First Order would be convinced to recommit.

The Resistance had shown that, as formidable as they seemed, the First Order was not indestructible.

As Poe had said, if the First Order’s greatest weapon could be destroyed by a team of pilots and four mismatched people on the ground with nothing more than a bag of explosives and a burning desire to overcome the odds, well…

It said more about the tenacity of the Resistance than the First Order’s arsenal.

Rey tried to listen. But the sand was rubbing against her eyes again; and sounds were at once too loud and sharp, and too far away, echoing and indistinct. Her heart raced for no reason, and she glanced around the room at the strange faces - droid, alien, humanoid - trying to catch her breath, as an absurd panic gripped her body - warring with a sudden lethargy that made her eyesight blurry, a strange euphoria sparkling through her veins, but he resisted the coaxing, straining against it - against the absolute loss of control over his own body, and his mind, which was becoming sluggish, disoriented, and he was desperate to ignore it, to cling to who he was, and what made him - his grief, his devastation, his guilt, his despair, his rage, and his yearning, even as pain throbbed through his body, as if his heart was pumping not blood but agony through his veins. His side was a gaping wound, oozing and burned and bruised, and pain seared from his brow to his chest, carving his face open, his shoulder and his arm smarting…where they had landed their blows… But he only felt hers. She had cleaved him in two…his appearance reflected the war within, tearing him apart.

And he clung to it.

“ _If you were still the boy in the sand asking me…I’d have joined you in a heartbeat_.”

Shame blistered through him. Devastated, that she had looked at him with such bitter disappointment. The boy he had once been…the boy he had abandoned…the boy he had seen twisted and warped until he was unrecognisable… Why would she had come with him, as he was? Grief and despair were tearing him to pieces.

Was there anything of Ben Solo left in him?

The bacta rose, and he thrashed, even as his mind clouded, and he found his control over the Force slipping, attempting to summon it to free himself, and his mind calmed, his breathing gentled, and his eyelashes fluttered as his eyes closed, coaxed to a soft place of lush green and wildflowers, endless skies and snow-capped mountains. Light swept through him, enveloping him: He felt _her_ , and lost himself in it. In her.

Her safe place.

Very few times in his life had he felt as unsafe as now; and yet…she was with him, he could feel her, in the calm that swept through him, enveloping him like a blanket, soothing the pain like a caress. Gentle golden light drifted placidly through his mind, and with it brought contentedness, peace, solace. He felt her, and reached for the wildflowers. They were more distinct now, detailed from her memories of the woodland, the sounds of birds singing softly, insects humming…life and _Light_ were all around him.

He luxuriated in the vision she had sent him, through the bond he didn’t understand.

The safe place was where he rested. And perhaps, he waited - for her.

Someone shook her arm, and a tanned face and dark eyebrows swam in front of her face as she tried to focus, blinking dazedly, and realising, confused and disoriented, that she was sprawled inelegantly on the floor. Poe’s hand was large and very warm on her shoulder, and his smile was relieved when she focused on his face.

“Hey,” he said gently. “You’re wiped out. Why don’t you go get some sleep? We’ll come get you if we need you.”

Her lips parted, and she helped her off the floor. Someone else handed Rey her staff, and she drifted aimlessly out of the bridge. She had no more to contribute, and high command had no more need of her: the door _schnicked_ softly behind her as it closed, leaving her in a too-bright, cluttered corridor, disoriented and dizzy.

She had…felt him. More than that - she had been inside his _mind_ , gazing from inside a bacta capsule as he thrashed and resisted, frightened by the loss of control over himself… Without even thinking about it, she had sent him thoughts of calm, of contentedness, of safety - she had imagined the safe place, and focused on it. On the scent of the wildflowers, and the melody of birdsong. Drenched herself in the details, in the calm and soothing thoughts that suffused her body whenever she thought of it… She had calmed him, and through that, calmed herself. She had almost drowned in his panic; he had been given room to breathe in her serenity.

With no other alternatives, Rey returned to the _Falcon_.

Delirious with exhaustion, overwhelmed by the bond with him…she found her bunk-bed in the second cabin, and slipped off her boots before climbing under the blanket.

The bed was still too soft, but she didn’t feel it.

Rey slept. And she dreamed of the safe place, and a wounded man waiting for her, whose lower-lip and chin trembled, his wounds raw, and held out his hand to her, his fingers shaking.

She curled up in his arms, among the wildflowers, fingers intertwined, and felt safe. She felt… _home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorty, this one was a bit of a transition chapter. And a little glimpse into what the bond means for Reylo in my universe.


	14. Rest & Repair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was watching Mad Max: Fury Road earlier in the week and was…inspired. And when I asked my friend if it was weird that I found inspiration for this fic in Fury Road, she said absolutely not; “Tons of sand and badass women” was her response! So in the future there’ll be a bit of a Fury Road plot, as part of Ben Solo’s atonement journey. Because I imagine there are lots of planets that fell victim to despots after the fall of the Empire - imagine ex-Imperial warlords taking control of a planet like President Snow with the Districts, slimy enough to survive the Rebellion and New Republic; or Immortan Joe; the Hutts had an empire of their own; and has anyone seen The Bad Batch with Jason Momoa; Maze-Runner; iRobot; The Island; The 100; the Governor and Negan from The Walking Dead; not to mention Killmonger in Black Panther taking advantage of the death of the king to stage a coup and destabilise the entire country, provoking civil war.
> 
> I guess what I’m saying is, there must be worse out there than the First Order, and I’m sure there are plenty of planets that needed liberating before the threat of the First Order, so I think a big focus for the Resistance would be giving their strength to those planets as much as ensuring those that are free remain that way, making sure those planets don’t give in to the First Order’s aggression. 
> 
> I’m kind of figuring out who my ‘big baddie’ is going to be for this fic, too. Other than Hux, I mean. Because to me, he’ll forever be the most dangerous man in the First Order, and the biggest threat to the galaxy because he is all ambition and zero morals. When it comes to mystical Force stuff/Sith enemies, I think I’ve got it.

**I Am Yours, You Are Mine**

_14_

_Rest & Repair_

* * *

“Rey.”

She whirled, and threw the wrench out of reflex.

And gasped, when it connected. Poe yelped in surprise, rather than pain - the wrench glanced off his chest, clattering to the floor. Rey grimaced up at him, cringing.

“I’m sorry!” she gasped softly, hunching in on herself instinctively - presenting a smaller target.

“No, that was on me; shouldn’t have startled you,” Poe said, waving her apology aside, to sit at the edge of the service-hatch and dangle his legs over the side, peering down. She had been in the bowels of the _Falcon_ all day, working with Chewbacca on the ever-increasing list of repairs that needed doing. She was proving her worth, as she’d had to when she was a little girl, showing Chewie that she was useful to have around, especially to get into the tight spaces, and that she was a very capable mechanic. “How are the repairs going?”

“Slowly,” Rey said, sighing softly. “The _Falcon_ was neglected for years.”

“Can’t believe this ship was stuck under a tarpaulin on Jakku,” Poe said wonderingly, clicking his tongue as he gazed around with quiet awe bordering on reverence. Everyone knew the _Falcon_ , and some people called it a sign from the Force that it had returned to the Resistance. As Rey fiddled about with bolts and connectors, reconfiguring the complicated wiring for one particular flowtronic intersector, Poe said quietly, “I didn’t see you in the mess-hall again; Chewie said you were probably still here.”

Rey paused, turning back to the flowtronics, and trimmed the protective tubing to expose a wire, meticulously threading it through a new plug, and admitted quietly, “I don’t have any credits.”

Not a single one. Unkar Plutt never dealt in credits. Credits could accumulate to freedom.

Unkar Plutt dealt in food rations. It kept them coming back to Niima Outpost, where he reigned supreme: they were reliant on him for food, but he was reliant on their scavenged tech and parts. Without them, he had nothing. The fear of being denied trade kept everyone sweet. Kept them in dread of Unkar Plutt - and not brave enough to risk starvation by challenging him. They created a fragile symbiosis in the desert; to upset it spelled disaster for everyone. So, Rey had the meagre portions she had bartered for that afternoon Unkar Plutt had offered to buy BB-8, and that was it; she was going through them more carefully than she had rationed her portions in recent memory. Until she could either convince Chewie she was worth paying for her work, or figure out an alternative way to earn her pay from the Resistance…

Poe frowned softly at her, his dark eyes compassionate but shrewd.

It occurred to Rey, as it had several times before, that Poe Dameron was _handsome_. Yet, every time she looked into his sparkling, humorous dark eyes, she was reminded of another pair of fine eyes, dark and soft and scared, with a bitter edge and a yearning so profound it made her heart ache.

What didn’t remind her of _him_?

“Come on,” Poe told her, gesturing her to rise out of the service-hatch, as he clambered to his feet. Rey peered up at him curiously, and he gestured again, smiling coaxingly. “C’mon. I’m gonna show you something.” He handed her the wrench, which she tucked into her utility-pouch, and clambered out of the service-hatch, eyeing the hand he offered her before taking it.

She wasn’t used to being offered help, without something being expected in return: Any other scavenger would have taken opportunity to fling her down a fifty-foot drop in hopes she’d break her neck in the fall, taking her tech haul for themselves. But Poe…felt _sincere_. He lifted her up, and raised his eyebrows when she bent to replace the grate over the service-hatch, tidying up after herself. It wouldn’t do to leave a mess.

It didn’t get old, wandering down the loading-ramp. Walking out with Poe, she felt the same sense of wonder and awe she had when first stepping out with Chewie, days ago.

They were not in a meadow, like outside Maz Kanata’s castle; they were inside what those more knowledgeable than herself called a _cave_. Grass spread as far as she could see, and pale light glowed softly from one end of the cave, the entrance concealed by more greenery, every ship in the Resistance fleet from the _Raddus_ nestled here and there among the meadows not of grass but of… _crops_ , like the kitchen-gardens at Maz’s castle. There were droids and humanoids tending to them, and to the wide, shallow pools of luminous water in which tiny blue _krill_ flitted about in _shoals_ , and purple-shelled _crustaceans_ that gave one hell of a nip. At night, she could hear the chorus of frogs chirping, clucking, peeping and whistling even inside the _Falcon_ : the sound was welcome to the locals, who praised them for eating the slugs and snails, with their movable homes, that fascinated her. Her vocabulary was increasing by the day, introduced to things she had never come into contact with, and was innately curious about. She turned slowly in circles, following Poe, taking in everything around her. Because she would never tire of so much _green_. The natural walls of the enormous cave were terraced, with more and more crops growing, and here and there were small dwellings, and leggy mammals with great horns plodding through watery terraces, and everywhere, tiny birds - she had already counted over a dozen different kinds - flying over the X-wings, transports and freighters the Resistance had landed, disappearing above the delicate wisps of moisture lingering high in the air - _clouds_. Even the natural ceiling of the cave, past the delicate, wispy blanket of clouds, was terraced with crops, and there were…people up there, tending to them.

Reeds and delicate grasses and _lilies_ grew up at the edges of the _ponds_ , and she could feel the moisture in the air. Inside the cave, it seemed like it was always a little damp, and bordering cool; the evenings brought a gentle frost that melted at dawn, leaving the grass glimmering with dew that soaked her boots as she wandered through the grass, always pausing to examine the dozens of different wildflowers growing all around her, in hues of yellow, orange, brown and pale purple, whispering grasses shimmering gold amid the endless green - she had tried, her first afternoon, after Chewie had found her on the _Falcon_ and woken her, to count the number of different _hues_ of green in any one place. It was impossible to count; so many different shades and tones… She wondered just how many hues of green there were in the galaxy.

Poe led her toward the _Raddus_ : the cruiser served as High Command’s temporary headquarters, and for most people, the barracks. The people of this simple farming community had offered the _Raddus_ fleet sanctuary, but there wasn’t facility to house everyone: As far as Rey knew, High Command was still deliberating on which of their bases to move to… They were taking the time to catch their breath. Chewie had said they had opportunity to refuel and make repairs - he wasn’t just talking about the star-fleet, which had been halved in the attempt to destroy Star-Killer Base.

She shivered, walking beside Poe; inside the _Falcon_ , she had forgotten. The air smelled crisp and cold, almost like Maz’s _aisa_ , lightly perfumed with something earthy and rich, pungent, and whispers of something very delicate and flowery. It wasn’t nearly as cold as Ilum, but the occasional gusts of wind were brisk, and cut through Rey’s threadbare top and cropped silk trousers. She missed the security of her hithline wrap draped around her, and itched to ask after it. It was…precious to her. One of her few worldly possessions - the clothing on her back being the others, the staff draped across her back and her invaluable tools collected in her satchel and her utility-pouch. Without the hithline she felt vulnerable. It was one of her most essential everyday tools for her survival, though it didn’t look like much. Poe gave her a sidelong glance, frowning subtly, and they made their way through the bowels of the _Raddus_ , up to the mess-hall.

If they smells of cooking food didn’t draw attention to the location of the mess-hall, the laughter and conversations echoing off the corridors would have. The mess-hall of the _Raddus_ was full of humans, aliens and humanoids all clustered around large tables, laughing loudly and trying to outmatch the next table’s conversation in volume as they enjoyed their meals.

This was more people than Rey had ever seen gathered together in one place.

The _Raddus_ boasted more starships in its little fleet than Rey saw depart Niima Outpost in the better part of a year.

It was…overwhelming. If the outside environment filled Rey with awe, being around so many people filled her with uncertainty. There were different rules here, vastly different social cues and expectations - _manners_. And…they smiled. If people were grumpy, it was because they were either tired or hungry, which was nothing new to Rey - but if they were upset, it was because they had lost someone at Star-Killer Base or in the Hosnian Cataclysm, or anywhere else the Resistance had operatives - and people _comforted_ them in their loss. Yes, they were part of a military organisation determined to fight for their continued freedom, and such loss was expected - but it was acknowledged, and every person here had the right to their grief. It wasn’t brushed off. Every life sacrificed was honoured. There had been a lot of those, recently - some by the Resistance’s design, sending their fleet to Ilum. But they could have had no warning about the Hosnian System, where some of their people had been stationed, feeding back information from the Senate. So, amid the smiling faces and laughter, there were people who sat looking subdued and dejected. And beside them, friends patiently guiding them through their grief.

Poe led the way through the crowds, to the far wall, one sweeping counter gleaming with polished metal, steam rising from various different tureens and platters. The abundance of food made Rey’s stomach hurt, but when she glanced at the plaque on the wall, she couldn’t even discern the ciphers to begin to count the cost of a portion.

“Hey, Bennie,” Poe called, and a worn, pot-bellied cook turned to them. He was enormous, but when he spoke, his voice was gentle, and warmth emanated from his eyes. Poe placed his hands on Rey’s shoulders. “This is Rey.”

“Ah…the girl we’ve all heard so much about,” Bennie smiled kindly, his eyes lighting up, but Rey swallowed, thrown back to her interrogation-chamber. _He’d_ said exactly the same thing. But where menace and curiosity had emanated from him in waves, Bennie smiled jovially, his eyes crinkling at the corners, as if _pleased_ and proud to meet her. “We’ve not seen you around here before.”

“She doesn’t have any credits,” Poe said quietly, and Bennie glanced at Poe, before frowning softly, and staring at Rey.

“Don’t you worry about that,” he said, warmth and understanding radiating from him. “General Organa would rather we stocked the pantry than buy a state-of-the-art X-wing. If we’re not feeling our best, how can we give our best?”

Rey frowned. “You don’t…have to pay?”

“Nope,” Poe smiled fondly at her. “Three meals a day is the least the Resistance can give us for what we’ve committed to them.”

Rey’s jaw dropped. _Three meals a day_! The two men chuckled, though Bennie’s eyes seemed suddenly sad, as he gazed at her.

“You want a bit of everything, Poe?”

“Just - nothing with _suckers_ ,” Poe shivered, eyeing the plaque, and Bennie chuckled softly, reaching for a plate.

“What about you, sweetheart?” Bennie asked, and Rey glanced at him. Unkar Plutt used to call her that; but never in the same tone Bennie had just used - gentle, almost tender. Warmth radiated from his eyes, and if he was the ugliest brute in the galaxy, Rey would never have seen it; that warmth made him beautiful.

“Um…” Rey cast her eyes over the dishes and tureens. _Everything_ was unfamiliar.

Bennie smiled at her. “Follow your nose,” he advised kindly, nodding, gesturing along the counter. “You won’t go wrong when you follow your nose.”

Bennie busied himself filling a plate for Poe: Rey went down the line, sniffing delicately at each platter and tureen. According to Poe, Bennie managed a team of humans, humanoids, aliens and droids to ensure meals for hundreds were ready on a strict schedule, without making anyone seem rushed or unwelcome in the mess-hall, and there was a familiar warmth that she had felt in Maz’s cantina in the mess-hall, as if people were welcomed, and happy to be there, relaxed and content. Full bellies did that. She’d only ever known hunger: Hunger made people irritable, unpredictable, desperate and vicious. Rey followed her nose; and Bennie told her which planet the dish originated from, and sometimes, whether there was a significance to the dish, a ceremony or meaning behind sharing that specific meal. In most worlds, sharing food was a ceremony, a celebration - of family, friendship, trust.

In the back of her mind, Rey thought that her only two friends in the world were lying comatose in the med-bay. Then Poe took her plate from Bennie to carry it along with his own to a table, and they sat down to share their meal.

The first meal she ate was a rich, deeply savoury stew of red meat, cooked “low and slow” with root vegetables, served with suet dumplings full of cheese and herbs, crusty and golden on top, fluffy inside and soaked with gravy underneath, and crinkly purple-green cabbage she’d seen growing in the fields, sprinkled with black pepper. Along with the food she’d tried at Maz’s cantina, Bennie’s stew and dumplings would remain ingrained in her memory for the rest of her life. She couldn’t move faster than a plodding gait for hours after, so full, almost drugged by the decadence of the food others considered to be simple fare.

She sat down with Poe, and a few of the other pilots and mechanics, overwhelmed by the rich, savoury scent of the stew with its rich beer and wholegrain-mustard gravy, and felt herself flushing as the other people engaged her in conversation. Perhaps one of the strangest phenomena since waking on-board the _Falcon_ after the destruction of Star-Killer Base was that Rey now found herself, quite often, surrounded by people.

While she had slept, recovering from what had happened on Star-Killer Base, tucked out of sight, word of her exploits on had spread, and it was…strange. People knew her _name_. They recognised her face, even though they had never met her. As she wandered the makeshift base, they came to thank and congratulate her. They shook her hand, or offered appreciative smiles.

“I don’t understand why they’re all so interested - I didn’t do anything,” Rey said, almost embarrassed by the attention, as she gazed mournfully at the last bite of gravy-soaked carrot, crusty-chewy dumpling and a tender morsel of meat on her spoon.

“Didn’t - Rey, you _opened the door_!” Poe blurted, his eyebrows rising. He laughed, shaking his head. “If Han and Chewie hadn’t planted those explosives, we would’ve never had a shot at blowing up that oscillator control tower. We were being picked off before we could even make a dent. If it’d taken even another five minutes to set off those bombs… It made all the difference in the world that you were there, and opened the door. It’s…it’s the little things - the details… And you escaped a First Order interrogation-chamber, don’t forget that. Do you know what kind of message that sends to people across the galaxy? What you did on Star-Killer Base, escaping, and helping to blow up the oscillator? You just…relit a _huge_ spark of hope across the galaxy that would’ve been extinguished by the Hosnian Cataclysm. Don’t sell yourself short!”

Rey flushed. She still didn’t think her part in it was as significant as all that - but if Poe did…

Rey was used to her daily routine, however atrophying it was to her mind, and punishing to her body. On Jakku, she rose, was battered by Chirrut’s morning training, did her stretches, then headed out to the Graveyard. She put in a full day, scavenging parts and tech from starships that had long been stripped of choice parts; and she traded whatever she could find for whatever meagre ration Unkar Plutt would give her. And be grateful for it, sitting in the sand outside her AT-AT while the sun set and the desert cooled, and she dreamed of leaving…of adventures. On rare occasions, she would make her way to Tuanul, to hear Lor San Tekka’s stories.

Now, she was working on cultivating a new routine. Mostly, it revolved around those three precious meals per day. She kept to herself, working on the _Falcon_ , unless she wandered the meadows and crops. Every evening, after her dinner, she visited Han and Finn in the med-bay. To soothe her ragged nerves after seeing her friends encased in flexpoly bacta suits, unconscious. Frail. Nonresponsive. She didn’t like that at all. She couldn’t help feel the unfairness of it - two people who _meant_ something to other people, and she… _Rey_ was the one walking around, breathing freely, without pain. It wasn’t right. They were the only friends Rey had ever had. It was her fault. And as desperate as she was for them to wake, she dreaded the accusation in their eyes when they realised how badly they had been hurt - because they had come for her.

It was a hideous thought - and it followed her, niggling in the back of her mind and the pit of her heart, and she…couldn’t stop thinking it, no matter how many times she tried to convince herself that the opportunity to come and rescue her only came about because the Resistance had been set on blowing up the First Order’s base. Han and Finn would have been on Ilum regardless. Meeting with her had been luck - or something… Some of the Force ghosts she had communed with and been guided by over the years would have said the Force was at work in all things, and therefore it was the Force guiding her way, and therefore, Han and Finn’s way too.

They had met for a reason. Rey had been called to the lightsaber for a reason.

She was bonded with _him_ for a reason, even though she daren’t tell anyone about it to even ask _why_ they were connected so intimately.

Rey had a lot churning through her mind, and it helped her to sleep a little less guiltily if she meditated first, especially after visiting Han and Finn.

So she wandered the ponds and crops, taking the time to explore, and to meditate. She used to meditate in the sand dunes as the sun set, striving to connect with anything living…now, she squatted beside the edge of a pool, or in one of the low, lush trees that grew sporadically throughout the cave, and immersed herself in the microcosm of life thriving in each. Every time, she chose one new, unfamiliar thing to focus on - a tall spire of creamy bell-shaped flowers edged with dusty crimson-pink; a _butterfly_ with vibrant crimson wings; an octapoid with utterly unique camouflage, reaching for stones and shells and debris with its tentacles to create armour, protecting itself; a tiny, docile bird with an iridescent purple-blue breast and a beautiful song; a small snail with an intricate purple shell (the locals used the shells to dye their clothing) - and let it guide her through the Force, connecting with everything around her. She didn’t have to close her eyes to focus, the way she had in the desert; life just thrummed around her, incessant and ever-changing. She focused on the minutiae of changes in plants and through that, _learned_ , and opened herself up to the greater world around her - without losing herself. Because it was overwhelming. And awe-inspiring, and Rey knew she would never get enough of it.

It helped to immerse herself in _nature_ , when she felt overwhelmed and anxious about Han and Finn and her place in the Resistance. So far, no-one had come up to her about her role; and she didn’t know who to ask to get direction from. Rey had lived _alone_ for almost all of her life. She had never been answerable to anyone; but the Resistance, though seemingly chaotic, had its own structure. Rey was learning it, day by day, and she appreciated the routine and organisation. She missed her own daily routine; adopting the routine of the _Raddus_ Starfleet, even if she wasn’t formally part of the Resistance, settled some of her nerves.

And she got the feeling she wasn’t the only one relieved to find structure in the everyday: She got the sense that they were all _waiting_ for something - departure to their permanent new base, Poe had hinted - and until such time as that great something occurred, they were focused on their daily routines. Whether they were on a temporary base, travelling at light-speed through the galaxy or settled in their new base, everyone in the Resistance had their roles (though some were changing, to accommodate for recent losses) and fulfilled their responsibilities so that, at the very least, the _Raddus_ Starfleet was running smoothly, even if nothing else in the galaxy was.

Every day, they heard more unsettling news of things occurring across the galaxy.

Very little directly attributed to the First Order, though Rey wasn’t sure which was worse - that the First Order wanted total domination of the galaxy, or that there were individuals and organisations so eager to take advantage of the destruction of the New Republic, causing widespread grief and suffering, creating new crime syndicates and totalitarian regimes. There was no-one to stop them…no-one but the Resistance, and Rey knew they were working possibly harder than they had _before_ the Hosnian Cataclysm. Poe said they were now fighting twice as hard. They had to fight once, against the First Order’s increased influence; and then again, against all those who sought to take advantage of the New Republic’s destruction.

As Poe said it, “There’s worse out there than the First Order.”

While the Resistance had multiple, secret bases - spreading the workforce and leadership in a clever ploy to ensure at least one base survived any attack by the First Order - Ilum had been the central hub for all First Order activity, and the greatest weapon in their arsenal. Anything they had left paled in comparison; and the Resistance had destroyed it with a handful of X-wings and a bag of explosives.

It was…something of a joke, across the galaxy - according to sources that trickled through the base from the main communications hub - that the First Order’s greatest weapon (a weapon that put the Death Stars to shame) had been destroyed by an aging hero, a Wookiee, a Stormtrooper deserter and a scavenger, armed only with a few stolen blasters, a bag of explosives and their collective wits.

They had set out to destroy Star-Killer Base. They had inadvertently turned the remnants of the First Order into a laughing-stock. Poe said that was dangerous. The Hosnian System had been destroyed in a moment because the galaxy hadn’t taken the threat of the First Order seriously. To laugh at the survivors of the implosion of Ilum now… Their egos had been wounded in the worst way; and those who prescribed to the rhetoric of the First Order were not the type to forget a slight.

“Believe me, I saw enough of the officers when I was captured on the _Finalizer_ to know they’re egomaniacs motivated by hate, fear and ambition,” Poe grumbled, shaking his head. “If Rey’s right, and he’s the officer who found Kylo Ren before Ilum exploded, we’re for it. He’s the worst of them. An ambitious, ruthless _zealot_.”

“Give me a heretic any day,” one mechanic tutted, shaking his head. “They’re much more entertaining. Zealots possess no humour.”

“Or a moral compass,” said one of the techs. Rey was still learning all of the names; there were so many _people_ , and they all seemed to want to say hello.

“Let’s talk about something else,” Poe sighed, shaking his head. “I refuse to let the First Order ruin my dinner.”

“That’s it, Poe. Keep fighting. One battle at a time,” Poe’s friend chuckled, patting him on the shoulder, as Poe reached for a spoon, determinedly assaulting his dinner, to the amusement of his friends. Whenever she sat with Poe, people inevitably gravitated to their table, joining them for meals, chatting about anything and everything, from the much-anticipated next instalment of a Togrutan holovid series _A Song of Sea and Sand_ ; to the shortage of mechanical parts; to the proposed new X-wing allegedly going into production; the decadence of having fresh crustaceans and meat on the menu; the crisis of the Hosnian refugees and always; people seemed to want to hear the story of the destruction of Star-Killer Base from Rey.

She met Chewbacca in the med-bay. The first time she had visited, she had stayed, thinking perhaps that if she waited long enough, Finn and Han would wake. But each time she visited, it became apparent that they needed to heal, and would wake in their own time: She never stayed long. Just enough to reassure herself that they weren’t going to get worse, and to whisper to Finn that she was waiting for him to wake up.

He was her first friend. And she wanted to get to know him.

“They asked for the story again,” she sighed softly, wandering with Chewie back to the _Falcon_. Darkness had already fallen, and flickering light from the pools illuminated their way.

_You’d best get used to it_ , Chewbacca warned her affectionately. _They still ask about Endor_.

“Why wouldn’t they? The Battle of Endor is the greatest moment in our history,” Rey smiled fondly at the gentle giant. “What’s glorious about it is that the Empire was crushed by _Ewoks_.”

Chewbacca made her laugh, telling jokes and bad puns about Ewoks. They were not, as some might have suggested, the offspring of a clone of the Wookiee with dwarfism, no matter how furry, no matter how unintelligible their dialect to the untrained ear. Rey’s understanding of Shyriiwook was improving by the hour: Chewie was the person she spent the most time with, working together to repair years’ worth of neglect to the _Falcon_ , so it followed that their communication had to improve. She wasn’t yet up to mimicking Shyriiwook, but she could translate almost instantly, making conversations flow. It helped that she only had to _translate_ , not speak the language herself. She smiled as the Wookiee sighed, lost in memories of ages past.

_Proof that the most unexpected creatures can change the course of the future_ , Chewie said, and Rey smiled sadly, glancing up at the giant. Poe believed she had done something essential in opening the door for Chewie and Han on Star-Killer Base; that the fate of the Resistance pilots, and the galaxy itself, had come down to her skills with flowtronics. That a scavenger from a desert planet could escape a First Order interrogation-chamber and wreak havoc was _unexpected_.

Unexpected was another word for underestimated.

The Empire had underestimated the Ewoks. The Emperor had underestimated Luke Skywalker. The First Order had underestimated a scavenger from Jakku. Kylo Ren had underestimated Rey.

And that was why, she knew, he was undergoing treatment for his injuries as surely as Han and Finn were; she could _feel_ it.

She sighed heavily.

Chewie said, _You’re thinking about it again_.

Her duel with Kylo Ren. She had told Chewie everything, in far more detail than she had offered to the high command that day of the destruction of Star-Killer Base, when Poe had taken her to the bridge of the _Raddus_. Perhaps because Chewie had been there. Perhaps, because she _felt_ Chewie’s grief and regret. And she _remembered_ , being inside _his_ mind… _Uncle Chewie_ , who’d taught him how to play chess; build a speeder; shoot a blaster… Chewie had shot his best-friends’ son. The boy he had once cuddled and fussed and groomed had stabbed his own father in the abdomen with his spitting, furious, unstable lightsaber.

As conflicted as Rey knew _he_ had been, torn apart by the act, she knew Chewie would forever regret his actions in that oscillator control tower. The plasma blast he had shot with his bowcaster should have killed him. That it _hadn’t_ …that Han was still clinging stubbornly to life…

“I can’t seem to stop replaying it in my mind,” she admitted, mumbling, and reached out to trace her fingertips through the long grasses sighing in a gentle breeze. It was getting much colder, and she shivered in her short trousers and thin top. During the day, it was bearable; inside the _Falcon_ , she didn’t feel it. But it was _cold_ , and she wasn’t used to it. And she shivered, because replaying her fight with Kylo Ren brought to mind snow, splattered with his blood, and the look on his face as he stumbled, split open.

_You should not have fought him_ , Chewie said, and Rey glanced up at the Wookiee.

She had let anger, confusion, grief and despair overwhelm her, consume her mind - _his_ ; Chirrut had taught her better than that, than to give in to emotion…but when it wasn’t hers, when she had never known to even train against something like that phenomenon… Her fingers twitched and burned, remembering the lightning crackling through the air toward him…raw _power_ \- and the complete feeling of vulnerability, powerlessness as _something_ consumed her mind and her heart in that briefest moment, erasing who she was, leaving nothing but the power. Terrifying. She had lost herself for that heartbeat…and it had scared her more than Kylo Ren ever could.

Han near death, Rey vulnerable from healing him - just enough so that Han himself could cling to life - exhausted, weak from hunger, devastated by _his_ emotional turmoil, grief-stricken by Finn’s injuries…it had not been her finest hour; and Rey knew she had done things she would regret forever because she had let her emotions dictate her actions. Instead of _thinking_. Even as he lay carved open in the snow, she had regretted it - even now, regretted not extending her hand to him. She had seen inside his mind, his heart…somehow, she had. She knew him. She had _seen_ the trauma rotting and reshaping his mind until he could not trust his own memories, his own judgement. And she knew he was eternally falling through darkness, with no-one to hear him screaming… No-one but her.

And she had hurt him, abandoned him…

“I shouldn’t have hurt him,” Rey countered quietly. _I shouldn’t have hurt him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a pain to write - it’s one of those awkward in-between chapters. I know where I want to get to, I just need to set the scene a little bit first, and kind of fill in the gaps.


	15. Training

**I Am Yours, You Are Mine**

_15_

_Training_

* * *

“Have you _ever_ been to a place so _sticky_?”

“Hey, what I get up to in my own time is none of your business!”

“I thought it’d be bigger.”

“He’s heard that before.”

Laughter echoed through the large chamber, good-natured banter lightening the mood as the mismatched group waited. There were Twi’lek; Mon Calamari; a Lorrdian swathed in a heavy cloak; an imperious, white-pupiled Arkanian who drew many eyes; several aliens Rey had never heard of let alone seen; a group of raucous Ardennians; several Togrutans; two Cereans; three Sullustan brothers and a group of Nikto warriors. For every alien and humanoid present, there were at least three humans, of all ages and races and origins. Rey was the only one who looked…ill-equipped.

The _Raddus_ Starfleet had found its new home, and every day there had been new arrivals from across the galaxy - veterans of the Resistance, most of them bringing new recruits. In the wake of the Hosnian Cataclysm and the destruction of Ilum, high command was happy to welcome so many recruits. What remained of the New Republic fleet had been absorbed into the Resistance, replenishing starships, pilots and personnel, now with renewed motivations to keep fighting.

“People are affected by things like this only one of two ways,” Poe had told her, as they watched another transport land in the long-disused star-port, several droids beeping uncertainly as they followed the Nikto warriors, two Togrutan males and a Twi’lek female off the ship. “It’ll either frighten people into submission; or wake others up to finally act.”

The people who had decided to _act_ had found Resistance operatives all over the galaxy, and committed to the cause.

It helped that the First Order’s most fearsome weapon - the most harrowing weapon ever created in recorded _history_ \- had been destroyed. That gave a lot of people confidence that the First Order itself could be defeated. It gave them _hope_.

As General Organa said, in the mess-hall the first evening they had settled in their new base on Lamia IV, “Hope is the only thing stronger than fear.”

It was the spark in the darkness that could set a galaxy ablaze.

Rey gazed around the chamber, assessing. The base had been built during the days of the Rebel Alliance, but only briefly utilised before the Battle of Endor’s decisive victory that hailed the destruction of the Empire. The moon Lamia IV was _tropical_ \- and its native flora very much had a mind of its own. Half of the base had been absorbed by the rainforest, reclaiming the cleared ground. Trees taller than Rey could ever imagine hid their Starfleet from view, and extra cover came from the rolling thunderclouds that drenched them at intervals, briefly silencing the insects, frogs and other creatures of the rainforest that made a cacophony as lightning speared the sky, dazzling and mesmerising. Rey didn’t mind the heat, she was used to that - but the moisture that sat on her lungs and enveloped her like a smothering blanket all hours of the day and night would take some getting used to. If their previous, temporary sanctuary had been crisp and pleasantly cool, the Resistance’s new base of operations was sweltering and sticky in all the wrong places.

She reached up, swiping her arm across her forehead, her sand-silks wicking away the sweat. Rey was used to the heat; and she was used to covering herself in clothing to protect herself from the sun and the wind. Now, all she wanted to do was strip off the clothes sticking to her skin, drenched with sweat and the recent, violent thunder-shower that hadn’t lasted more than five minutes. Water dripped from a hole in the ceiling, where purple vines had torn at the brick and mortar, choking steel, red-veined fiery leaves the size of her AT-AT creating a canopy overhead, catching the sun’s rays, vibrant as firelight, moss and low plants and flowers straining toward the sun in the hopes of catching some light, and mushrooms flourished in the dank shadows, glowing with eerie beauty. The ground was fissured and uneven, the walls crumbling, defiant of physics as they remained upright, overgrown with creeping plants and vines and mesmerising lime-green flowers the size of Rey’s head, glimmering with sap, which snapped closed on this moon’s strain of skittermice as they scampered across the surface of the petals. The state of their training arena didn’t matter; it was what they had, and if anything, imperfect conditions created better-prepared soldiers.

A shaft of artificial light spread across the broken ground, and a woman entered the hall, followed by several other humans, humanoids and aliens. Rey’s eyes locked onto the woman.

Standing at a little over average height, her curvy body emanated strength; she wore faded, textured blue-black armour, battered and scratched, with dented pauldrons, a high, protective collar, a crescent-shaped plate over her voluptuous chest, and a wide, reinforced belt cinching her waist, from which knives and a pistol hung. Her muscular arms were protected by gauntlets, her knee was braced, and knives, ammunition and another blaster were tucked into her worn leather boots. An aura of strength, easy confidence, femininity and utter capability emanated from her, but Rey noticed her short hair, and went dizzy from déjà vu, imagining she recognised the woman. She had a very pretty face, even beautiful, with dark eyes, a nose Rey would describe as dainty and smiling lips.

“Thank you for waiting,” she said in greeting, and her accent was soft and lulling. Strapped across her back, Rey realised, was a twin-pronged rifle, and it gleamed when the light caught it, striding to the centre of the hall. Rey had seen a weapon like that only once in her life, when the Mandalorian had come to Jakku hunting a bounty. “I am Gunnery Sergeant Andor. I will be overseeing your basic training and assessing your aptitude to determine your best fit here on-base; for the next four weeks, _I_ will be the centre of your galaxy. You might be thinking it’s my job to keep you alive. You would be wrong.”

The Gunnery Sergeant gazed around at them, her dark eyes scanning their faces. Though her face was pretty, her expression was sombre, and the earnestness made them all pay close attention. “Many of you here will have come with your own skill-sets. We’ll be assessing you, to fill in any gaps. It’s up to you, how much you take from your training. How well you adapt to every situation that you will be thrown into. Maybe you survive. So, learn well.” She sighed heavily, glancing around. Briefly, her eyes rested on Rey, and the Gunnery Sergeant seemed a little startled: Rey was easily the smallest human in the hall. Beside a group of tall, strong young men, she probably seemed particularly frail. “And may the Force be with you.”

It was unusual to hear that ancient phrase: Rey only knew it from the Force ghosts she communed with - especially Chirrut, who had been a fervent believer in life - and still was. He had faith that the Force was in all things and _guided_ all things. He had tried to give her an education in _faith_ , as much as he had taught her to defend herself with the quarterstaff. To Chirrut, the Force was about _faith_. Too many planets had been torn apart over _religion_ ; faith was something else.

“She’s trying to kill me,” Rey declared, after the third day, shuffling to Bennie in supplication. She had been imagining what she would _eat_ for the entirety of the afternoon session, just to get through it. Slowly, she sank down onto a bench near Poe, whose dark eyes danced with amusement.

“That’s a nuisance. Who?”

“Gunnery Sergeant Andor,” Rey muttered, her muscles protesting as she sat. She winced, sighing in elation at finally being off her feet; blisters had formed during their run through the rainforest on the first morning, and ruptured, and before they could start healing, they were on another run through the rainforest, with no time to stop and explore. She wasn’t used to running on solid earth, no matter how much the rich undergrowth made things springy underfoot. Her lungs were protesting the humidity, and her body was telling her she had been idling for too long. By the end of the first day, Rey was lightheaded, her feet were screaming, and her lungs hadn’t seemed able to get enough oxygen. More than that, the frequent thunder-showers drenched them at intervals, and insects seemed to be attracted to their wet flesh, biting.

Poe chuckled, his grin sparkling.

“Ah, the Andors are tough, but fair,” he said, smiling. “Just be glad it’s Jory and not Antiope training you. She put _me_ through basic-training when I first joined the Resistance; believe me when I say she prepared me for the First Order’s finest.”

“You had to go through basic training, too?” Rey asked curiously, and Poe nodded. “But you’re a pilot.”

“I am. But - and I’m sure they’ve given you the spiel by now - everyone on this base should at least know how to throw a punch, shoot a pistol and co-pilot a starship at a pinch,” Poe said. “We share our skills, passing them on. It’s all we can do. Pass the parcel.”

“We share our skills?”

“Yep,” Poe nodded. “Your time’ll come. And I’m not talking about that lightsaber you conspicuously _don’t_ carry around with you.”

“I don’t like to carry it,” Rey mumbled, flinching. She didn’t need to see Han’s and Finn’s wounds to know they were agonising; not when she occasionally felt a searing pain from brow to breastbone as if someone had struck her with a flaming whip - _his_ injury. The one she had given him, carving him open. “I’m not comfortable with it. And there’s no-one to train me to use it properly.”

“You fought Kylo Ren,” Poe pointed out.

“But he was injured,” Rey said, almost too tired to pick up her fork. Today’s dish reminded her of those noodles she’d had at Maz’s cantina, and her mouth watered; she had just enough strength left to feed herself. “It was…more him underestimating me - and his own injuries - than my skill. And I… I don’t think he wanted to _hurt_ me.”

“From what he did to Han and Finn, I’d disagree,” Poe said, and Rey’s lips parted - only to close again, realising she’d have to explain _everything_ if she protested. But she didn’t believe he had come after her actively seeking to hurt her; it was…more that he wanted her. Wanted her to join him…even as they’d been swinging at each other, he had tried to get through to her, implored her to join him, let him teach her.

Poe watched her carefully, and Rey turned to her noodles, which were fiddly enough that she had to concentrate twirling them around her fork. She still wasn’t used to _utensils_.

The first session of ‘basic training’ wasn’t the hardest. Or even the third. By the end of the first week was when it truly hit Rey, when her bruised and aching body had time to catch up and make its protests known. Basic training was like battling the Strus clan for ten hours straight, every day, with barely a pause for breath.

Perhaps it hit her so particularly hard - in comparison to the others she was training alongside - because hadn’t had to truly exert herself since before BB-8 had appeared in her life, the exception being her duel with Kylo Ren.

And though she was by no means weak, she wasn’t used to the exercises the Gunnery Sergeant had them drilling. She wasn’t used to running on solid ground, either; they ran through the rainforest for _miles_ , until Rey was lightheaded and blisters on her feet had ruptured. She was used to that. There were a lot of things about basic training that she wasn’t used to. She didn’t think the flaming heat in her cheeks was going to fade for a good long while after their initial firearms assessment.

However, there were some things she excelled at.

She could climb a vertical rope to the ceiling of the hall faster than any other human, and could stay up there for longer than anyone but the Ardennians.

“You’ve learned a lot already this week,” Gunnery Sergeant Andor said quietly to her, approaching as Rey pounded a dummy made up to look like a Stormtrooper. They were alone in the hall; Rey found it difficult to sleep on her soft mattress, and the sticky heat made it uncomfortable to even try. She was also aware that she was perhaps the least-trained person among the new recruits.

Rey glanced at the Gunnery Sergeant. Throughout their training, the Gunnery Sergeant had proven herself to be tough but fair, good-humoured, consistent and kind. She didn’t laugh at other people’s shortcomings - she had muttered something to one of the other officers as the hall rang with laughter at Rey’s first shoddy attempts with a blaster, but she hadn’t laughed.

“I’ve got a lot more to learn, haven’t I?” Rey said quietly, panting, and the Gunnery Sergeant smiled.

“Not as much as you’d think,” she said, crossing her arms over her ample chest with a sigh. “We can teach you how to knot cords and aim a rifle, but you’re a survivor, or you wouldn’t have made it off Ilum. You have skills all your own. It’s worth remembering everyone’s experiences vary. Where do you come from?”

“I… I spent most of my life on Jakku,” Rey told her, and the older woman nodded thoughtfully.

“There are more forgiving places to try and survive,” said Andor. “It explains your strength, and your resilience. I’ll be keeping an eye out to see what other talents you’ve accumulated.” And she did as promised, keeping a watchful eye on Rey during their training-sessions, watching, assessing. Guiding. If she saw Rey struggling - during hand-to-hand combat training, for one - she intervened, giving life-saving advice, how to adjust Rey’s posture and tactics to dominate in spite of her size. She nodded her approval during knife-training, seeing Rey’s natural affinity with the small blade she always carried with her.

Her training sessions were exhausting, but after the first week, she found it difficult to sleep. Anxiety plagued her; when she curled up in the bunk inside the _Falcon’s_ secondary cabin, she still thought she would fall instantaneously to sleep, exhausted from training. For the first few days, she had. Then a whisper of something unsettling threaded through her mind, anxious about something she couldn’t explain even to herself, unable to settle, restless - and with the anxiety came an awareness, a dull, continuous ache that ebbed and strengthened unpredictably, leaving her biting her lip to stifle groans of agony, or gasp breathlessly at the sharp, stabbing pain in her side, searing and relentless. And always, her skin itched - from brow to breast, as if someone had struck her with a flaming whip, the wound festering and raw, open and oozing. The pain grew steadily worse, affecting her not just physically, exhausting her, but mentally - she was… _grumpy_.

Thankfully, training gave her opportunity to lash out.

And it was Sergeant Gunnery Andor’s laughter that echoed around the hall one claustrophobically hot, sticky afternoon, two weeks into basic training, while everyone else stopped, stunned, to stare at Rey, more than a few jaws hanging open in stunned disbelief.

Tomasz, a hulking Nikto warrior, lay prone, winded and bloodied, his cudgel knocked out of reach by Rey’s quarterstaff.

Through a blind lottery, they had been paired against sparring partners. During this session, they had been permitted to choose a weapon. There was one rule: No mortal wounds.

Panting, her top ripped at the side, ribs aching, blood trickling from her nose, her ear ringing from a hit she hadn’t dodged in time, Rey’s entire body thrummed with euphoria bordering pain, gripping her quarterstaff for support, her knee still twinging from yesterday’s session, freshly bruised where Tomasz had kicked her there, exploiting her vulnerability. Her knuckles were raw, her lungs aching, sweat shimmering over her entire body, soaking her clothing, and Rey shuddered and stood, hunched over the quarterstaff, aware her legs were shaking, and her lungs were screaming, and she couldn’t catch her breath for pain.

The entire hall was silent, except for Gunnery Sergeant Andor’s hearty laugh.

A hardened Nikto warrior versus a skinny little human girl?

Nobody had even bet credits, they were so certain of the outcome of this sparring match.

Heat creeping into Rey’s cheeks, she panted, glancing uncertainly at the officers, at Gunnery Sergeant Andor, who was laughing so hard she had to brace her hands on her knees to stop from collapsing on the ground. Her face shone with tears, and several of the other officers’ lips twitched toward smiles.

Rey gripped her quarterstaff, panting and shivering, suddenly cold even in the heat. Her vision swam, suddenly dizzy, her mouth dry, and she clamped her eyes shut suddenly to dispel the flickering lights and the whirling chamber.

She heard murmurs, stunned whispers, and someone saying, quite clearly, “ _She’s a half-feral little beast_!”

“ _How else could she survive Jakku_?”

“Two things,” Gunnery Sergeant Andor said, her humour still clearly evident in her voice. “ _Never_ underestimate your opponent. “Tomasz can be forgiven for taking it for granted that Rey was a novice with the quarterstaff. She’s taken all of us by surprise. So, make a point to remember that when you’re paired against her. Secondly…when we’re fighting, unless your orders are specifically to capture your target, you are not fighting for honour, or reputation. You’re fighting for your lives. _Do_ _not pull your punches_. Someone wake Tomasz. Check if he needs to head to the med-bay. _I_ felt some of those hits.”

“We all did,” someone chuckled, and a laugh reverberated around the chamber. Rey didn’t laugh; she grimaced, stifling a wave of nausea that accompanied more dizziness, hunched against her quarterstaff. Half the reason she had chosen to fight with her staff was because she had needed it as support to get her to the training hall this morning. Odd that her pain had filtered away like sand through her fingertips as she focused on their morning drills, and their first task: to create an incendiary detonation device from salvage. Nearly a dozen of the others had seen how swiftly she had been able to assess the scrap and craft something purposeful and, importantly, reliable. She had shared her knowledge, as Gunnery Sergeant Andor had promised she would. She wasn’t built like an AT-AT like some of the others; didn’t know her way around an armoury; and she was by no means the best pilot of the bunch - but she was gaining the respect of the others, who were all older than her, and most of them battle-hardened, or at least galaxy-savvy.

She was proving her worth. And the more they saw of her during training, the more easily they believed her role in the destruction of Star-Killer Base. Because they were sceptical; she knew that, and didn’t blame them. She didn’t know how things had aligned so that she had reunited with Finn, Han and Chewie. Her role in saving Han and Finn’s lives…well, fewer people knew about that than knew it had been her who opened the doors for Han and Chewie to place the explosives…

A good thing, too. Rey wasn’t sure she was ready for people to question…whatever it was she had done that day. That she had _healed_ Han, drawing him back from the brink of death…

“Rey…” The Gunnery Sergeant’s voice was closer, gentler. Rey grimaced, and squinted up at her. She was physically powerful, but when she wanted to be, her presence could be comforting. Perhaps it was the concern radiating from her face, frowning gently as she gazed down at Rey. “Are you hurt?”

Contradicting everything her body was screaming - both to herself, and to any observer - Rey shook her head.

No, she had not sustained any real wounds during her duel with the Nikto warrior - a feat in itself. Certainly nothing to warrant the kind of pain suffusing her body with a relentless ferocity that made her eyes water, made it harder than ever to bring air to her lungs - made her chilled, in spite of the sweltering heat embracing them all like a clingy lover.

“Rey.” The Gunnery Sergeant’s voice turned urgent, rather than unkind. “Stand up straight.”

Rey squinted through bleary eyes, gulping down dizziness. “I thought I was,” she groaned. It was only then that she realised…she was hunched over like a crone, stooped, her spine curved, legs bent, clinging to her quarterstaff for support - breathless and disoriented with pain.

She hadn’t felt it, while she fought the Nikto. As if she had shed the pain, all thought of it, while she was focused solely on her opponent, on fighting - on embracing the Force to guide her as she attacked and evaded, using everything Chirrut had ever taught her to defeat an opponent far bigger and _far_ more experienced in combat than herself.

But now she felt it; and as she tried to do what she had been ordered by the Gunnery Sergeant, her muscles protested, screaming as they stretched taut, and her body thrummed with pain and exhilaration that bordered on ecstasy as she straightened, grimacing back at the Gunnery Sergeant, who was frowning at her with a mixture of concern and something glinting in her eyes - wariness.

“I will escort you to the med-bay,” she declared, leaving the rest of the session in the hands of her colleagues while she guided Rey out of the training hall and into the labyrinthine passages of the base. She let Rey use her quarterstaff for support, and didn’t hurry her; didn’t speak, either, except to ask if Rey needed a rest.

They arrived at the med-bay after Tomasz, who had been half-carried by his fellow Nikto warriors. Rey had fractured his jaw and given him concussion, three broken ribs and a dislocated kneecap.

He was being tended to by a woman Rey recognized, the beautiful Zabrak with the intricate braids from the debriefing when she had arrived at the Resistance’s base.

Rey winced as she glanced at the Nikto. She had been told to fight. She had nothing against Tomasz, but she had never been in a position where her life was _not_ forfeit if she didn’t protect herself viciously and without compassion. Perpetually, she had been underestimated - it had kept her alive for a very long time.

Even _he_ had underestimated her.

She flinched, as the ghostly coil of fire whipped against her skin, searing from brow to breast, and her body felt like it was on fire. She swallowed a wave of nausea, her grip slipping on her quarterstaff, her palms sweaty. Her knees shook, and she was aware of the taste of copper and the dizziness before the Gunnery Sergeant grabbed her, and with surprising gentleness for someone so muscled, settled Rey down on a cot nearby.

“Just sit there for a moment,” Gunnery Sergeant Andor told her gently, and Rey was aware of the bustling activity of the med-bay, the sound of voices fading out of earshot. The glowing white chamber shimmered and stretched in her bleary vision, and her breath came short and sharp in her lungs like they were being stabbed, her heart aching as she stared across the chamber at the two cots side-by-side - one occupied by a young black boy, the other by an old silver-haired man, both in bacta-suits, bandaged and unconscious, hooked up to machines, droids hovering nearby.

Darkness swam into focus, and Rey blinked, straining to focus through damp eyes - wet from tears, or pain, she couldn’t decide.

“My name is Galen,” said a rich, attractive voice, and the darkness became a figure as she blinked, her hand shaking as she pushed the moisture from her eyes, gasping. A handsome face came into focus, warm twinkling brown eyes with fine lines at the corners from smiling, high cheekbones and firm lips that twitched to a coaxing, almost playful smile. He had tanned skin, and Rey realised his eyes were the same shape as the Gunnery Sergeant’s. “Galen Andor. I’m a surgeon and scientist for the Resistance. Do you remember your name?”

She swallowed with difficulty, and her head felt too big, too heavy, when she nodded. Her voice sounded sluggish when she winced, murmuring, “ _Rey_.”

“Do you remember where you are, Rey?”

“Th…think it’s a Lamia moon?” she said. “Can’t keep track. Tha’s good, right? Can’t tell anyone.”

“Yes,” said Galen Andor, and he smiled gently. “What brings you to my med-bay, Rey?”

“ _Her_. The Gunnery-Sergeant, I mean…” Rey said, squinting at him, panting softly.

“Do you remember if you hit your head?”

“No; I did the hitting. Tomasz is my fault. They didn’t say not to maim,” she moaned, gasping as she hunched inward, clutching her side.

“Can you tell me about your pain, Rey? Gunnery-Sergeant Andor tells me you were hunched over like this before your sparring session with Tomasz,” Galen said gently. Rey shook her head, her mouth dry.

“Not my pain,” she wheezed, and blinked, as those three words, issued from her lips, filtered into the air, to her ears, and she truly heard them.

This wasn’t _her_ pain.

It was _his_.

For days, it had been building, slow and insistent - relentless.

She raised her eyes to Mr Andor’s calm, open face, and gasped, “It’s not my pain. It’s _his_.”

“Whose?” he asked gently.

Rey was in too much pain - even though it wasn’t _her_ pain - to guard her words. She groaned, “Ben Solo’s.”

The effect of that name, said aloud, was strange. Gunnery-Sergeant Andor stood up straight, her hands falling to her sides, her lips parting; Galen’s eyes widened subtly, his face falling - sad, almost heartbroken.

Realisation filtering through her pain-fogged mind, Rey’s lips parted, and she murmured in wonder, “You knew him.”

“We knew him. We’re some of the few to ever realise that name belongs to him,” Gunnery-Sergeant Andor said, the surgeon gazing sorrowfully at the floor, as if the weight of his grief was too heavy to lift his head. “Whether or not he’s since abandoned it.”

“Kylo Ren,” he said softly, his tone grim - devastated. Rey grimaced, nodding - regretting the movement instantly as her head swam. “Can you describe what you’re experiencing?”

“It didn’t always hurt,” Rey panted softly, wincing, squinting into the surgeon’s handsome, earnest face. “I could…feel…like being struck by a whip - only sometimes. I thought I’d imagined it. But it was…the wound I gave him. I carved him open and left him in the snow.”

“How?”

“With Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber,” Rey grunted breathlessly, and the two glanced at each other, visibly stunned. She raised her hand to indicate where she had split him open. “And Chewbacca shot him with his bowcaster; it hit him…” Her hand shook as she pressed it against her left side, letting out a sharp gasp of pain as it radiated from her side. There was no bruise, no physical mark to indicate she had sustained any wound that could cause such pain…because it wasn’t hers. It was _his_. “For a while, I didn’t feel anything…just…peace, it was almost… _euphoric_. And then…I started to wake up in the middle of the night, anxious, and the pain became constant, just a dull ache in the pit of my stomach - growing worse.”

Mr Andor sighed, frowning; his gaze lingered on Han Solo and Finn.

“After sustaining serious injury, common treatment includes bacta tanks, for those who can afford them,” he said: The Resistance had to adapt and make do. “Withdrawal from bacta produces two side-effects: one, a restfulness similar to still being inside the bacta chamber. The other…a painful withdrawal, worse than the injuries themselves. It sounds like you are experiencing this withdrawal. But without the underlying cause of the injuries, there is nothing I can do to help.”

“I know what I need to do,” Rey groaned, reaching up to cradle her head in her hands to stop it spinning so badly. This wasn’t her pain - but _he_ was enduring it…and she couldn’t help feel that he endured it _alone_. Something in the pit of her stomach - or the back of her mind, where shadows writhed sensuously with golden light, whispering a trail across the galaxy that he would hear clear as a bell.

Closing her eyes, she reached out, touching the pain, as it crawled and wriggled and smothered, and coaxed it, clutching it in her hand, gently pulling, until a dark knot appeared in her palm, growing, undulating with shadows and low moans, and, breathing slowly, she let calm suffuse her body, embracing peace, contentedness…she imagined the safe place, and with it, the feeling of warmth and safety and acceptance, belonging, that she had felt since joining with Finn and Han and Chewbacca and the Resistance. She sent those feelings of warmth and belonging, of peace and delight, through the sensuous bond, releasing the pain into everything around her through the Force, drawing on the sparkling, effervescent light, pushing it through the bond.

Like shedding the weight of a luggabeast she hadn’t realised she was carrying, Rey sat up straighter, but didn’t open her eyes; not until, in the back of her mind, she heard a soft sigh of relief, of contentment.

She _felt_ him relax, and reached a hand out through the bond, to gently brush his mind, the only caress of tenderness and compassion he had felt in years.

A gentle nudge, that he was not alone.

She did not lack compassion: He was suffering because of _her_.

Rey took the worst of his pain, and gentled his anxious mind.

* * *

A galaxy away, Kylo Ren’s hulking body, rigid with tension under the clinically-clean blanket, relaxed into the thin foam mattress with a soft sigh, almost of contentment; the lines of anguish in his face smoothed, and his fists unfurled. His agitated heartrate gentled; and he allowed himself to slip away, to drift into a restful, healing sleep for the first time since they pulled him from the bacta-chamber. He felt the caress of human contact whispering through his mind, something sparkling and delicious; the golden light made brighter by the shadows chased away the worst of his pain, coaxed him…to the safe place. _Her_ safe place.

She didn’t wait for him there, but he felt her presence anyway, the lingering caress of her presence through his mind. He sighed, slipped off his boots, and sifted his toes through the long, fragrant grass, indulging in the scent of it, observing the new flowers that had been imagined into existence in the meadow. The attention to detail was telling. His mind was sharp enough - in here, without the pain - to know they had been recreated from close examination of the real thing. And if he was inclined…he might have found her by identifying the unusual clusters of delicate three-petal purple blossoms on long, sinuous stalks waving in the gentle, warm breeze.

He reached out, the tiny petals silky to touch, vibrant violet in colour with a delicate sheen to them, like the finest Naboo silk.

Delicate, exotic. Far more resilient than it looked. Just like her.

His heart thumped. She had brought him here, coaxing him away from the pain, from being constantly on edge, terror in his utter vulnerability as he lay in the med-bay…and his aching loneliness, on human among droids in an echoing, sterile chamber.

It was never going to be the pain that killed him, he knew.

It was the loneliness.

But he could feel her. She had felt his pain, his despair, and she had not just acknowledged it but gone out of her way to help him. She had hurt him, and abandoned him…but she was here. Through the strange bond that had solidified that day in that hateful chamber, he felt it; her grief. Her regret - and her _compassion_.

 _Compassion for an enemy_ …

**Author's Note:**

> A few songs accompany this fic: “Marry Me Suite” from Pirates of the Caribbean, At World’s End, “Ben and Rey Love Theme” and “Ben Solo Theme”, both by Samuel Kim, “Love Me Back to Life” and “Unstoppable” by Sia, “Wonder Woman’s Wrath” and “No Man’s Land” by Rupert Gregson-Williams, and of course, “Across the Stars”.
> 
> Several YouTube videos also inspired this fic when I was going through Reylo withdrawal/denial: “Rey and Ben Their Full Story” and “Ben and Rey (Reylo) A Dyad in the Force” both by Lilac Edits, as well as “Ben & Rey The Power of One” by tstudios. 
> 
> Check them out: It's worth it!


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